Adoration
by leyapearl
Summary: After an article names Joe one of NY's most eligible bachelors, the Hardys are hired to protect an actress - Frank as her personal assistant; Joe as her boyfriend - from a stalker threatening the play and her life. Encrypted series.
1. Trailer

They were in yet another hospital room. Frank sat by Joe's bed, his head in his hands, not wanting to see his brother lying so still, hooked up to the myriad of machines that were keeping him alive – the ventilator pushing air into Joe's lungs, the heart monitor beeping with each faint beating of his heart, the IV dripping blood into his veins to replace what had been lost. The phone calls had already been made, and people had started making their way to the hospital. Their parents were being tracked down on their vacation cruise in Alaska to be given the news.

Their friends had set up a vigil in the ICU's waiting room – Chet, Tony, and Biff sat still and silent, waiting for any sign from Frank or the doctors that Joe would be okay, that he would survive. Phil called in every half hour from the airport in Los Angeles, his flight delayed by storms on the west coast, the ringing phone a jangling interruption that made them jump each time. Marisol alternated between holding Chet's hand, praying softly in Spanish, and running back and forth between the waiting room and the cafeteria with cups of coffee and tea. Kara stood alone by the windows, a pale, ghostly version of herself, and stared out into the darkness, her shirt sleeves still stained with Joe's blood.

_Is this what it was like for you when it was me in the bed, Joe?_ Frank thought. _I don't know how you stood five days of this without going crazy. I haven't even been here an hour, and I need to hit something. Hard. _A weak smile crossed his face; this was Joe's way of reacting to stress, not his. He generally withdrew inside himself; Joe was the one who punched holes in walls. He lifted his head and took Joe's hand in both of his own. "She's safe, little brother. We got the guy. She's all right. Now I need you to be. I don't think I could take it if..." He let out a long, slow, unhappy breath and tried to steady his voice. "Just rest and heal, Joe. We're all here for you." He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. _This_ _wasn't supposed to happen, _he thought. _This time the case was supposed to be easy._ He snorted. "Yeah, easy. Right. And yet here we are again."


	2. Act 1, scene 1

Monday

* * *

><p>"Frank?" Chet stood in the door of Frank's office. "You got a minute?"<p>

Frank looked up from his spreadsheet, his brown eyes bleary, a steaming mug of coffee held firmly between his hands. "Nothing that can't wait," he replied. He took a sip of coffee and put the mug down on his desk. "I've been going over the expense reports I asked you for," he said, answering the question in Chet's eyes. "We seem to be going through a lot of pencils lately. I wonder if Joe's using them as darts again." He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Actually, I'm grateful for the interruption; it's too early on a Monday to be doing this anyway. I'm going bug-eyed. What's up?"

Chet tilted his head to one side. "You went to Bayport this weekend, right?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah. Dad needed help cleaning out the garage, and since Joe went to Boston with Kara for some family thing, I got elected to do the heavy lifting." He drank some more of his coffee. "Funny how he always manages to be out of town on project weekends." He pursed his lips, his eyes going distant. "Maybe I should have you do a spreadsheet on how often that happens. Could be instructive. Or frustrating."

"Yeah, uh." Chet looked uncomfortable. "You didn't happen to see the Sunday paper while you were there? The weekend magazine, for instance?"

"No. Mom stopped delivery since they're heading on that cruise in a few weeks. Why?" Frank pushed his dark hair from his forehead and his eyes narrowed. "Oh no. What did he do this time? Is that why he's not in yet?"

Chet's eyes widened. "Wow, two seconds to suspicion. That's got to be a new record for you." He shook his head, bewildered. "It blows my mind that you could even think..."

"Chet!"

"Yeah, sorry. I got side-tracked. The attention deficit of part of Joe's ADHD must be rubbing off on me." He shrugged his shoulders. "Anyway, it's not what he _did,_ per se. More what he said..."

Frank waved a hand indicating Chet should continue, then held it still. "No, wait a sec." He took a long swallow of coffee, put the mug down, then covered his face with his hands. "Okay," he said, his voice muffled and resigned, "now I'm ready. Shoot."

"You're not the one I'm worried about shooting him," Chet muttered under his breath. "Okay, remember how I mentioned a few months ago that a reporter had been by looking to do a story on new up and coming city businesses? You were out interviewing a client, and Joe was here doing... something."

"Yeah, probably making more pencil darts," Frank answered, spreading the fingers of his hands so he could watch Chet's face. "You said she was looking for information about the agency. She never called back, and the article never appeared in the paper. I assumed the editor dropped it. So?"

"Well, and you know how Kara had been wanting to keep her and Joe's dating sort of under wraps since she was working on that money laundering case?" Frank moved his hands away from his face and placed them palms down on his desk. Chet nodded his head encouragingly. "Trust me. They connect." He paused for a moment, then let out a long, noisy breath. "There was an article in the weekend magazine about local businessmen. She called it 'New York's Top Ten Business Bachelors.' Three guesses who made the list."

Frank stared for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Joe? Joe made the list? You're kidding, right?"

Chet looked confused. "You're not mad about this. Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Frank Hardy?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "This is not the reaction I was expecting."

Frank sniffed and wiped his eyes. "You have a copy of the article, yes? This I have to read. Tell me he made the top three?"

"Top five," Chet said. "Marisol thought he should've been number two. She said number three was boring, number two's business didn't look viable, and number one was probably gay, although to be fair the article didn't specify the bachelors had to be interested in women."

Frank took a few deep breaths and worked to get his laughter under control. "Yeah, so it'll make undercover work difficult for a while. And possibly stakeouts, but maybe the publicity will bring us in some new clients." He gestured at his computer. "With expenses like these, we could use some new business."

"If Kara kills him, you'll be stuck with taking all the cases solo," Chet warned.

An evil grin covered Frank's face. "I can just see the look on her face. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation..."

"What conversation?" Joe's face appeared suddenly behind Chet shoulder. "Sorry I'm late. We didn't get in until after midnight, and traffic this morning was terrible." He squeezed past Chet into Frank's office. "What's going on?"

Chet looked from one brother to the other. "So, I'll be leaving now. I told Marisol I'd pick up some bagels for her from that deli across the street. She'll be by on her lunch hour to get them. You guys want anything while I'm out?" He backed out without waiting for an answer, leaving the two men staring at one another.

"That was weird," Joe said, sprawling out in one the chairs near Frank's desk. "He okay?"

"Chet? _He's_ fine." Frank moved his coffee out of the way and started tapping keys on his laptop. "You, on the other hand, may want to start planning your funeral, little brother." He moved his hands around on the keyboard for a few seconds then turned the screen around so it faced Joe. "I can't wait to hear how you explain _this_ to Kara..."

Joe's face turned red then white as he read the words on the screen. "Oh, crap. I don't remember telling her... I didn't say... How could she..." His eyes widened as he read the article with the accompanying photo. "She never even asked if I was seeing anyone!" He started banging an open palm against his forehead. "I." Bang. "Am." Bang. "So." Bang. "Dead." Bang.

"I take it that means the weekend went well?"

Joe sighed, dropped his hand to the chair's armrest, and gently shoved the laptop back towards Frank. "I thought so. Her folks seem to like me. At least her mom did. I couldn't tell with her father. He kept making these cryptic comments about seeing what the future held." Joe shivered slightly. "They remembered me from the funeral. Asked how you were doing."

Frank nodded. It wasn't a time in his life he liked to think about very much. He quickly changed the subject. "Any chance she won't see this?" he asked as Joe's cell phone rang.

Joe's blue eyes rolled. "Pretty sure _that_ ship has sailed." He stood and pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. "Yup. I think I'd better take this in my office. If I'm not back in ten minutes, send in the bomb squad." He flipped the phone open and started towards the door. "Hey, Kara, how's your morning?" He pulled the phone away from his ear, and Frank snickered as he heard Kara Malone's voice pour out from the tiny speaker. Joe walked faster, and a few seconds later, Frank heard the door to Joe's office slam shut.

"Looks like someone's in for an interesting morning," he said and turned back to his spreadsheet.


	3. Act 1, scene 2

"She laughed."

Frank's head whipped up from his spreadsheet, startled by the sudden noise breaking his concentration. "What?" He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again, forcing them to shift their focus to his brother's face. "Oh, good, you're off the phone." He turned his laptop towards Joe. "Look at this. I need you to explain why we're spending this much on..."

"She _laughed_."

A puzzled look flashed across Frank's face, then cleared. "Oh, yeah. The article. So what? So did I." He shrugged. "At least she didn't try to kill you. Or break up with you." He grinned briefly. "You're always saying how similar we are. Consider it just one more piece of evidence." The smile faded, and he gestured to Joe to come closer. "Now take a look at this..."

"Frank. _She laughed_." Joe's voice sounded truly annoyed.

Frank raised an eyebrow. "So you said. Three times now." He abandoned the laptop, stood and walked to the front of the desk, then leaned against it. "A half hour ago you were worried she was going to kill you. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't laughter a preferable response?" he asked drily. "I mean, you didn't really want Kara to shoot you, did you?"

Joe sighed and slumped against the door frame. "Of course not. What kind of an idiot do you take me for?" He straightened for a moment. "Don't answer that." He leaned back again. "I guess I was just expecting – I don't know – something... that wasn't... that." He waved his hands in the air, punctuating the final word, and sighed again.

Frank's eyes widened, and he shook his head in disbelief. "I don't believe you. You're actually upset that she's not angry. You're nuts. You realize this, yes?" Joe rolled his eyes, and Frank turned back towards his desk, grabbing the laptop. "Great, now that we've worked through that..."

"I mean, couldn't she have at least acted possessive? Or a little jealous?" Joe's right foot started bouncing up and down on the floor.

"Why? To soothe the savage ego?" Frank shot back. "If that's what you're looking for, Joe, you're dating the wrong woman."

Joe put his hands up in surrender. "I know, and I don't want her to be different." He sighed. "The whole thing's just weird, and it's got me on edge. Forget I said anything." He ambled over to one of Frank's chairs and sprawled out. "So, spreadsheet. Lay it on me. I'll try not to fall asleep."

"Thanks." Sarcasm dripped from Frank's voice. "I'm so glad you appreciate my attempts to keep us solvent." He pointed to the computer screen. "Here's what I need to know..."

"Oh, wait. Before I forget." Joe sat bolt upright. "Kara wanted me to remind you about the scholarship presentation. It's on... um... Crap, I know this..."

"It's the twenty-third. I've got it written down." Frank's eyes softened. "It was really nice of the family to set up a scholarship in Lynne's memory. Tell her I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it. That night's going to be hard for her." Joe nodded, and Frank gestured to the laptop, his expression shifting from understanding friend to annoyed older brother. "Can we go over this now?" Without waiting for another interruption, he launched into an explanation of the spreadsheet's contents.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After ten minutes of listening to Frank drone on about expenses and revenues and pencils, Joe felt his eyes start to glaze over. After twenty, he was so bored he thought he might kill himself. After thirty, he changed his mind and decided to kill Frank instead. _Maybe not kill_, he amended, _maybe just maim a little_. He sighed loudly.

Deliverance came in the form of Chet. As Joe was busily considering the many ways he could incapacitate his brother without seriously injuring him, Chet leaned in Frank's doorway, his phone headset dangling around his shoulders. "Guys? Call for Joe on line one."

Frank raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You planned this, didn't you?"

Joe opened his hands in front of him and put on an expression of mock sorrow. "Sorry, 'bro, but it's probably important. I should take it in my office, so you can get more work done on your spreadsheet." Then he turned and fled, almost overturning the chair in his haste to leave.

Once in his office, Joe shut the door and let out a sigh of relief as he reached for the phone, ready to kiss whoever it was on the other end. The minutiae of running the agency completely bored him to tears, and he was pleased – no, relieved – that Frank generally handled it all. Any time Frank went undercover for the FBI for any length of time, the details of running the agency – getting bills paid on time, filing forms with the police or district attorney's office, and making sure clients received invoices – all fell on Joe's shoulders, and each time Frank came back, Joe breathed a sigh of relief and sent a prayer of thanks that there was still an agency for Frank to come back to. Frank's somewhat anal approach to running the business end of things meant he could concentrate on the cases, and he was grateful for it. As much as Frank complained about having control of the agency's finances, Joe knew that some small, twisted part of his brother's psyche actually enjoyed worrying about them. He breathed out, shook his head in disbelief, and pressed the blinking button on the multi-line phone. "Hardy Investigations, can I help you?"

"Mr. Joseph Hardy?" The voice coming through the phone was young, female, and British. Joe smiled, picturing to himself a blonde in her early twenties with blue eyes and a bright smile. It was an attractive image.

"This is Joe," he said, force of habit smoothing out his deep voice. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, good. I was afraid you wouldn't be in. My name is Penelope Smith-Harrington, and I work with the New York Cancer Research Association." The words were spoken in a sing-song manner, as if they she said them often, but the accent was charming. Joe would have been happy to listen to her read the phone book.

"My brother and I will be happy to make a donation, if that's why you're calling, but you'll need to talk to him about it. He's the financial wizard..."

A bubbling laugh interrupted Joe's words. "Oh, no, Mr. Hardy. You misunderstand. We run charity auctions and were wondering if you might be able to help us out."

Joe's voice mirrored his confusion. "You think someone might be interested in bidding on investigative services?" He could just imagine trying to convince someone to bid on a cheating spouse stakeout. He shook his head, not able to wrap his mind around the concept.

The laugh rang through the phone line again. "The article didn't do justice to your sense of humor." She paused. "Our auctions are... different. We auction off dates with well-known New Yorkers."

"Dates?" Joe's mouth dropped open. "Like an 'evening out' kind of date?"

She made an 'um-hum' noise. "We have an event set up for this Wednesday, and one of the men who agreed to be on the auction block seems to have injured himself at work last night. I realize this is extremely short notice, but we were wondering if you might be available to substitute for him." Joe could hear her put a hand over the receiver, then say something unintelligible to someone standing nearby. "Sorry about that. They want me to ask if you own a tuxedo, or if we'll need to rent one for you."

"A tuxedo?"

"Anyway," she continued, "the weekend magazine article came out at the absolute perfect time. We were going spare trying to figure out where to find someone to step in for Warren."

Joe's head snapped up. Their drop-out had been injured at work last night... "Warren Chadwick? The NBA star?" His voice cracked.

"Oh, you've heard of him?" Penelope asked brightly. "Lovely. So can we count you in?"

"Wait." Joe's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Frank put you up to this, didn't he?"

Penelope sighed. "Why is that always people's first reaction? Are you near a computer?" She waited until he murmured an assent. "Our web address is www dot dateoutcancer dot org."

Joe typed awkwardly, his shoulder keeping the receiver up by his ear. "Got it." He scrolled down the page, looking at the information on the screen in front of him. There were some pretty famous people on the 'auction' list. He whistled, then sighed. "Look, Miss Smit..."

"Call me Pen," she said, laughing. "My last name's a bit of a mouthful."

"Pen," Joe corrected. "I'm flattered that you contacted me..."

"Oh, dear," Pen said. "I hear a 'but' coming. You're not seeing someone, are you? The article listed you as a bachelor." She sounded crestfallen.

Joe stopped and thought. He and Kara had been together for a few months, but outside of Frank, Chet, and their parents, no one else was in on the secret. Due to the nature of Kara's work, she liked to keep her private life as private as possible, and having lost Iola so many years ago, Joe respected and understood that need. He decided subterfuge was his best bet. "No," he lied. "It's just not something I feel comfortable with. We'll be happy to make a donation, but..."

Pen sighed. "I understand. From the article, you seemed just the type who would enjoy it, but I suppose we'll have to look somewhere else. I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Have a nice day." The connection cut out.

Joe shook his head as Chet stuck his head in the room. "Dude," Joe said to his friend, "you will not believe what that was about. This is turning into the weirdest day of my life."

Chet chuckled. "You'll have to tell me about it later. Marisol is here, and I'm heading to lunch." He paused and opened the door the rest of the way. Joe could see Chet's girlfriend in the outer office – her hair currently dyed a copper color that went well with her dark-toned skin – and waved. She waved back, grinning widely at him. "I saw the line light go off. Kara called while you were on the phone."

Joe started and looked at his watch. He was late for their lunch date. "Great," he groaned. "Now she's going to rag on me for being late again. Like she needed more ammunition."

Chet shook his head. "Something came up. She and Travis got sent out somewhere. She said she'd call when she could, but it might be a couple of days." He shrugged an apology. "Oh, she said to tell you she liked the picture of you they got to go with the article. Someone in the office brought it in 'cause they know you're Frank's brother. The general consensus was it made you look 'distinguished'. Or at least not as air-headed as usual." Joe's eyebrows went up. "That was Travis talking in the background. You know how he is." Chet shook his head. "I still can't believe she's not mad about it. I thought for sure..."

"Chet? I'm hungry. Are you ready to go?" Joe could see Marisol looking at her watch.

"Yeah," Joe's voice was flat. "Well, what can I say? I'm lucky." He paused and nodded at Marisol. "You better go." Chet nodded and turned back towards his girlfriend, shutting the door as he walked away.

Joe slouched back in his chair and sighed. He wasn't sure whether to be upset or pleased that his lunch date with Kara had been canceled. _It's not like I really wanted her to be upset. Or jealous_, he thought, _but laughter? And now she's on assignment with Travis._ He grunted in disapproval. He knew Kara worked in a male-dominated profession, which made the rise to her current position as team leader even more impressive. _But Travis. Ugh. It couldn't have been _anyone _else?_ Joe was fairly sure that most of her team members realized he was around a lot for someone who wasn't called in on cases all that often – unlike Frank, who spent a good amount of time actually working with Kara – but none of them had said anything. None except Travis, who made snide comments about Joe – generally in Joe's presence – on a regular basis. He could only imagine what Travis said when he wasn't around.

He let out an unhappy breath. If only Kara wasn't so stubborn about things. She was so different from the girls he usually dated – smart, driven, intense, and able to hold her own in a fight. His previous girlfriends had shouted from the rooftops that they were involved with him, hung on his arm when they went out, and didn't seem to want much from him other than his charm and good looks. Kara wouldn't accept anything but his best, whether it was related to work or to their relationship. She was tough and sharp, but over the past few months he had discovered a softer side that she hid from the rest of the world. _She does a damn good job hiding it. It took me forever to find it. And she's gorgeous. How did it take me so long to see that?_ The problem was that Travis saw it, too. And now they were off on assignment together. Jealousy flared up in Joe's chest, and his memory replayed Kara's laughter about the article again. _Fine,_ he thought, _if that didn't bother her, then I guess a little charity work won't either._

He moved the computer mouse, bringing the screen back to life again, clicked on the 'contact us' link of the website on the screen, and called the number he found on the page. "Pen? It's Joe Hardy. I checked my calendar. It turns out I am available Wednesday night, and you don't need to worry about the tux. I own one. So where do you need me to be when?"


	4. Act 1, scene 3

Friday

* * *

><p>"Chet, can you bring me the BellCorp file?" Frank scribbled notes on a piece of paper with one had, the other pointing to text on his laptop's monitor. There was something he was missing, and it would drive him crazy until he figured out what it was. "Chet?" He cocked his head to the side, listening. There was no answer. He blew out an annoyed breath, his cheeks puffing out to the side. "All right, then," he muttered, "I guess I'll get it myself."<p>

He walked into the quiet reception area, noting both the three or four bouquets of flowers that had arrived for Joe since his being featured in the paper and the fact that his brother's office door had been shut since Wednesday afternoon. _Where is he?_ Frank wondered, then he shook his head, a slight grimace on his face. Joe was probably out doing surveillance somewhere and would call when he got bored. _Although I would have expected that to have happened by now._ It wouldn't be the first time Joe had neglected – or forgotten – to tell him where he was going. He shrugged his shoulders and continued on to Chet's desk.

As he put a hand out to open the filing cabinet, Frank noticed a note taped to Chet's computer. Unfolding it, he saw in Chet's neat writing: 'Filing affidavits at the courthouse. Be back ASAP.' Frank rolled his eyes. With the levels of security and bureaucracy Chet would encounter at the courthouse, he'd probably be gone for at least several hours. _So I'll get to intercept any further floral deliveries. Great, just how I wanted to spend my afternoon._

It only took a few moments to find the file he needed. Frank nodded his head in approval at Chet's system and organization. _Bringing him on _was_ a good idea._ _None of this predecessors did this good a job. Or was as willing to put up with our quirks_, he thought ruefully. _At least Chet had the advantage of knowing what he was getting into when he took the job._ He started leafing through the file, scanning the pages to find the information he needed and growing so engrossed in what he read, he sat down at the desk without realizing it.

Frank had lost track of how long he had been sitting there when he heard the loud noise of a clearing throat. He started slightly, then looked up to see a man, probably in his early to mid-fifties, staring down at him disapprovingly. "I'd like to speak with Joseph Hardy," he said, his voice high-pitched with a slight French accent that Frank was sure wasn't genuine.

"He's on a case at the moment. Can I help you with something?"

The man sniffed. "I would prefer to discuss my needs with Mr. Hardy directly, not with his office staff. When do you expect his return?" He brushed some imaginary lint from the front of his grey, argyle vest. _Cashmere,_ Frank thought as he examined the man more carefully. His pants and shirt appeared to be custom made, and Frank recognized the shoes he wore as being from a well-known – and expensive - Italian company.

Frank raised his eyebrows, his need to be polite to a potential client warring with his desire to teach the man some manners. "I don't know," he said, working to keep his voice even. "As I explained, he's on a case. I'd be happy to talk with you about the services we offer..."

"Young man, I am not accustomed to being spoken to in this manner! It is imperative I speak with Mr. Hardy immediately. It is a case of life and death." The man was practically shaking in anger as he spoke.

Frank's lips tightened into a flat line, and he counted to ten slowly before responding. "Well, sir, unless you share with me the details of the case, I won't be able to concur with that assessment." He paused a moment before continuing. "And since all our cases are confidential, I can't tell you when my brother" – he had the satisfaction of seeing the man flinch – "will be returning." Frank stood and moved out from behind the desk. "I'm Frank Hardy. If you'd care to come with me, we can discuss your problem and see how Hardy Investigations can help you."

The man's features shifted quickly from anger to astonishment as he followed Frank into his office. Frank indicated he should sit in one of the chairs, and he moved to sit behind his desk, instinctively understanding this man would respond better to a show of power than politeness. "We're a rather busy agency, Mr..."

"Montvale. Pierre Montvale."

Frank's eyes widened slightly in recognition, and he cocked his head to one side. "The theatrical agent. Well, well."

Montvale looked shocked but pleased. "You've heard of me?"

Frank allowed a small smile to show on his face. "I read _Variety, _Mr. Montvale, and this is New York." He paused, letting the older man consider this information. "Now, why don't you tell me why you need to see my brother so urgently?"

Montvale swallowed, then reached into the small, hand-tooled, leather briefcase he carried under his left arm. He pulled out a handful of newspaper clippings. The small one on top showed Joe in a tuxedo surrounded by two or three college-aged girls; it was from Thursday's paper. _The society page_, Frank noted, looking at the small text in the top corner of the page. While he usually read the paper cover to cover, he had missed that section yesterday. _Now at least I know why Joe's not here_. The next one down was the 'bachelor' article from the weekend magazine. The rest were about a play that would be opening soon on Broadway.

"Adoration," Frank said as he scanned the papers. "That's the new Stephen Stillwater play about..." His eyes grew distant as he searched his memory. "Mary Magdalene. It's generating quite a bit of controversy. The subject matter _and_ the potential star, if I recall." He rubbed his forehead, thinking. "Anna Gold." He looked up sharply at Montvale. "You're Anna Gold's agent. Is there a problem with the play? Or with her involvement?"

Montvale shook his head in disbelief. "I owe you an apology, Mr. Hardy. I came here to talk about a case, and instead you're telling me about it. I misjudged you. I'm sorry." He leaned back in the chair, suddenly looking older and much less sure of himself. "It's about Anna that I'm here. I want to hire your brother as a bodyguard for her when she's out in public. I want him to pose as a new boyfriend, escort her to evening events, accompany her to parties, that sort of thing."

Frank gave the man a puzzled look. "Is there a reason for this, Mr. Montvale? Do you believe she's in danger? It just seems odd that you would be approaching us rather than Ms. Gold herself."

The agent's lips formed a tight line, and he looked at Frank for a moment before speaking. "I trust you are discreet, Mr. Hardy." The man fidgeted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "Part of the reason Anna agreed to do this play was to get out of Los Angeles. Disturbing things were happening – cryptic notes, phone messages on her private line, that sort of thing."

"A stalker? And if you're coming to us, he's followed her to New York."

Montvale nodded. "It may not be the same person. We don't know. There have been a few messages at the theater that comment on where she's been and who she's been with. Nothing you couldn't get from the local press. But I would feel better if she had someone to protect her." He cast an appraising look at Frank. "If you know of Anna's career..."

"I know she was the victim of a sexual assault when she was younger," Frank said, his face taking on a grim expression. "A deranged fan who confused her and the role she played in those space movies. If I remember the news reports correctly, one of the crew members rescued her before it went too far."

"Yes," Montvale no longer looked surprised at the depth of Frank's knowledge, "but ever since then Anna has been ... leery... of trusting young men. I managed to convince her I could find someone who..." He stopped, trying to find the right words.

"Who wouldn't hurt her?" Frank finished.

"Yes," Montvale sighed. "I've known Anna since she was a child, Mr. Hardy. I love her like she's my own daughter. I only want to keep her safe." He turned his head and looked out the window at the skyline. "I wanted her to come to New York, to get away from whoever was frightening her, but I argued against her taking this role. Strenuously. The controversy around the play..." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "It puts her even more firmly in the spotlight, but she wanted a chance to prove to the world she should be taken seriously as an actress. And to star in a Stillwater production..." His voice faded. "Then I saw the article in the paper this weekend, and thought I had found the perfect solution."

Frank nodded. "Given what you're asking, Mr. Montvale, I'll have to talk to my brother before we can agree to take the case. I have to make sure he doesn't have any upcoming... engagements... that might conflict with a long-term assignment that takes place mostly evenings and weekends."

"I understand." The agent rose and handed Frank a card. "I look forward to hearing from you soon, Mr. Hardy." He held out a neatly manicured hand, which Frank shook. "Thank you for your time."

Frank walked him to the door and saw him out. As he turned back to his office, his eye was caught again by Joe's closed door. "Okay, little brother," he muttered softly. "Time to get your butt back here and get to work."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Are you so starving for attention, you had to be in the paper twice in one week?" The conversation with Kara about the charity auction was not going well, Joe decided. It hadn't helped that one of her team members – _Probably Travis,_he thought with a flash of anger – had somehow gotten Kara the picture the news photographer had taken of him with the winners of his date. Someone from the office must have emailed or faxed it to her location. It also didn't help that they were having the conversation over the phone after Kara had been up for the better part of two days doing surveillance on a high-profile stockbroker related to her money-laundering case from several months ago. "Really? And sorority girls? Are you trying to tell me something, Hardy?" The phone line crackled.

Joe ground his teeth in frustration. "No, of course not. I was trying to raise money for cancer research. I had no idea what was going to happen."

"Really?" Kara's tone indicated her total lack of belief in what he was saying.

Joe groaned. From the moment he had arrived at the charity function, he had known he had made a big mistake, but backing out wasn't an option at that point; he had given his word. _Stupid ego. What was I thinking_? Then he had to admit to himself that he wasn't thinking. He had been too busy feeling underappreciated and jealous. _I am so stupid._

The bidding had come down to a nice, elderly lady in her seventies who wanted to give a lot of money to a worthy cause and the three sorority girls from the photo who had wanted a hot, not-too-old guy to take them dancing. Joe had kept his fingers crossed for the old lady, hitting her with the full force of his charming smile, but luck hadn't gone his way. The girls had outbid Mrs. Clarkson by ten dollars in a bidding war that had taken nearly forty-five minutes and had garnered the attention of one of the society page photographers who moved in at the very end to take a picture of the girls with their prize. Joe had then spent the intervening day and a half working his own surveillance gig and trying to get through to Kara's private cell phone in order to confess to his idiocy before she found out about it some other way, but his luck hadn't held there either. Now, as he heard her voice for the first time since Monday, he realized just how childishly he had behaved. And how much he missed her.

"Kara, look..."

"No, you look. The article was cute. Funny, even. _Because it happened several months ago._" She paused, and Joe could almost hear the steam pouring out her ears. "But this? I'm trying really hard to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I'm not amused, Joe."

Joe blew out a long breath. "I was trying to do something... I don't know... to make you react differently. To the article. I guess I was a little hurt." He paused. "So I did something dumb. I'm sorry." He let out another breath, waiting for her reaction.

When she responded, her voice was frosty. "Sorry that you got caught? Or sorry you did it?"

"Sorry I did it." He paused and took a deep breath. "As long as I'm admitting stupid things, do you want to know why I did it?" He waited for an answer. When one didn't come, he continued. "I was jealous that you were going off on this assignment with Travis. I wanted to do something that would make you as crazy as I felt."

There was a long pause on the other end. "You're jealous of Travis? Why?" Her voice sounded muted.

Joe snorted. "Come on, Kara. It's clear he can't stand me. He's always making those cracks about dumb blonds when I'm around. And it's painfully obvious he cares for you. Why _wouldn't_ I be jealous?" he asked, his voice rising.

"Joe, Travis is _married_."

"Married?" Joe felt his jaw drop. He hadn't known that. It had never even occurred to him to ask.

"He and Heather just celebrated their fifth anniversary. And the smart-ass comments? He only makes those to people who'll get them." Kara sighed heavily, and Joe could hear frustration in the sound. "If you think the comments are annoying, you should hear how he talks to people he doesn't like. He treats them like they're four years old." She sighed again. "Look, I have to go. I don't know if I'm going to be able to call again. We'll talk when I get home."

"I miss you," he said, pouring as much emotion as he could into the three words. He heard her swallow, then the line went dead. He clicked off his cell phone, closed his eyes, and shook his head. Then he gathered up his things and headed back to his own surveillance duties.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was dark out when the door opened and Frank finally heard his brother's shuffling gait walking through the office. "Joe, can you come in here, please?"

"Frank? Why are you still here?" Joe's voice sounded startled.

"I think the more pertinent question is where the hell have you been for the last two days?" Frank couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice. He watched his brother's face flush. "We had a potential client come in. I've been trying to call you all afternoon. Is your cell phone even on?"

Joe's hand went to the front pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his phone, and glanced at the screen. "Battery must have run down. Sorry." He sounded subdued.

"Well?" Frank pushed.

"Well, what?"

"Where have you been?" There were times when Frank wished his brother was quicker on the uptake. This was one of those times.

Joe looked down at the floor. "I finished up the Patterson job." His voice was listless. "The report will be on your desk in the morning."

Frank regarded his brother, suddenly realizing what the problem was. "Kara saw the paper, didn't she?" Joe's head shot up. "Come on, little brother, what were you thinking?"

Joe let his gaze travel somewhere over Frank's right shoulder. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine, we can talk about our new case instead. We're being hired to do a protection detail." Frank watched as Joe's eyes jumped back towards him, a glimmer of interest appearing in them. "Or rather, you are."

"Wait. Just me?" Joe walked over to Frank's desk. "Why just me?"

Frank recounted the events of Pierre Montvale's afternoon visit. "He's really worried about her. He may be an agent, but I don't think he's that good of an actor."

"Annie Gold? From the Teens in Space movies?" Joe shook his head in disbelief. "Man, I haven't thought of those in years."

"She's known as Anna now," Frank corrected. "And you've just landed a starring role as her new boyfriend courtesy of all your recent publicity."

Joe's eyes grew wild. "I thought you said it was a _protection_ detail."

"Montvale wants someone around her at all her public events. Someone more or less unremarkable." Frank stood and walked around to the front of his desk. "Given the article and the auction, his plan makes sense. With the press you've gotten this week, it's logical that she would have seen your picture and been interested. And you can keep her safe."

"Why can't it be you? You've done a lot more undercover work than I have. You're a better actor." Joe started pacing. "You should do it."

Frank's eyes followed Joe as he walked back and forth. "It's about time you're finally admitting it, but Montvale specifically asked for you." He reached out and grabbed Joe's shoulder, understanding immediately what the problem was. "Joe, it's a job. Kara's a professional. She'll understand."

Joe flinched and pulled away. "I'm screwing this up, Frank. I've already screwed it up. I can't make it worse."

Frank's expression softened. "I won't argue with you. The auction? Not one of your brighter ideas, but Kara's not unreasonable, Joe. Just don't push the act too far." He sighed. "Anna Gold is a person who needs help. We can help her. _You_ can help her. Do you really want to say no?"

Joe ran a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel like I'm being forced into this?"

"If you say no, we'll walk away."

"Fine." Joe tipped his head back, closing his eyes. "We need the business, and how hard can protecting an actress be anyway?" He opened his eyes again, and turned his gaze on Frank. "If Kara breaks up with me over this, you realize I'll kill you, yes?"

Frank raised an eyebrow. "I think you'll be all right."

"What makes you say that?" Frank could hear the skepticism in his brother's voice.

"Easy," he responded, "and I've been waiting a long time to say this. You're not that good an actor." He grinned at Joe and was pleased to see a small smile show on Joe's face. "Now go write that Patterson report. I'll be in tomorrow morning looking for it."


	5. Act 1, scene 4

Saturday

* * *

><p>Joe met Frank at a coffee shop near Montvale's office to go over the cover the two of them had devised. Given Frank's caffeine addiction, the location didn't surprise Joe, but the time did. Nine in the morning on a Saturday was way too early. He entered the café to find his brother – head bent over a stack of papers – nursing what had to be at least his second cup of coffee. <em>Given the size of the stacks, <em>Joe figured,_ it could be the third_.

He crossed over to Frank's table, sat down heavily in the empty chair, pushed aside some of the papers with his elbows, then dropped his head into his hands. "Explain to me why we had to be here so early," he complained. "I don't have to be there until eleven. What can you possibly have to tell me that'll take almost two hours?" Frank simply sipped at his coffee until Joe lifted his head. "What?"

Frank put the mug down and glanced critically at his brother's face. "You know, if you went to bed at a reasonable hour, nine in the morning wouldn't seem so early."

Joe blinked several times before responding. "You know, it's funny," he finally said, "I see your mouth moving, but all I hear is 'blah, blah, blah.'" He yawned and stretched. "Look, can we just get on with this? What did you and agent-man come up with?"

Frank gave Joe an annoyed look that spoke volumes. "_Montvale_ saw your picture in the paper and asked you to stop by to discuss a possible modeling career."

"_What?_" Joe spluttered, all traces of sleepiness now gone. "That's the best you could come up with? That's got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Modeling? Why would I even be remotely interested..."

"You know," Frank said, irritation filling his voice, "I'm not sure the folks at the counter heard you. Care to shout a little louder?" Joe flushed, and Frank shook his head disapprovingly. "Did you give Kara this much grief about your cover when you went in after me?" Joe noticed some of the irritation had been replaced by curiosity and nodded warily. "Yet she still agreed to go out with you. Well, I guess wonders never _will_ cease." He shook his head again, drank more of his coffee, then pushed the mug aside. "Look, Joe, you many not like it, but it makes sense. The blond haired/blue-eyed look is in right now, and even I have to admit you're not that bad looking."

"I'm touched. Really."

Frank cleared his throat. "To continue. You told him you weren't interested. As you were leaving you bumped into Anna – literally bumped into her – and asked her out to lunch to apologize." Joe bit back the smart remark he was about to make and instead started twirling a spoon on the tabletop. "She agreed to go, and you hit it off." He paused. "It's always best to keep a story simple. You'll be repeating it often enough that you won't want too many details to trip over. Besides, the press will add it whatever they think is missing." His eyes darkened as he paused, watching the spoon spin in circles. "On a more serious note, you need to go about this carefully. Cut back on the charm a bit. Apparently, she's not all that thrilled with this solution. Montvale had to ram it down her throat a bit."

"What do you mean? It's for her safety."

"Joe, how much do you know about Anna Gold?" Frank neatened the piles of paper in front of him.

Joe shrugged. "Teen movie star. Gorgeous. Now she's trying to prove she can really act. Why?"

"Did you ever wonder why she disappeared from the screen?" Joe shook his head, then sat open-mouthed as Frank explained about Anna's history. "She's going to need to trust you. Keep the charm for the cover. Stick with sincerity for the meeting." Joe nodded and went back to fiddling with the spoon. "I'll be meeting with Montvale later on to find out more about what's been happening." He gave Joe a wry look. "Also, you do realize this case will have to be your primary focus for a while."

The spoon clattered to the floor, and Joe bent over to pick it up. "What do you mean, 'primary focus?' What about our other cases?"

"You're going to be spending a lot more time in the paper, little brother. That cuts out surveillance for a while," Frank responded. "And you'll more or less need to be at Anna's beck and call." Joe's face fell, and he absently started twirling the spoon again. "While I do expect you to make appearances at the office, scheduling appointments will be difficult. _Any_ appointments." A stormy look covered Joe's face, and he looked away. Frank reached out a hand and stopped the spinning utensil. "I've never seen you this uneager to spend time with a beautiful woman. Are you feeling all right?"

"I don't like feeling like a lap dog, okay?" Joe retorted, his voice tinged with anger. "And case or not, she's not the woman I'd be choosing to spend all my time with right now."

"Joe, look at me." Frank's voice was steely. Joe turned back to face his brother. "It's a role you're playing for a job. _You won't make it real_." His eyes narrowed. "Besides, I thought you'd be all over the not-having-to-work-so-hard aspect of this. I mean, when I get sent undercover – which generally involves _real_ work, I should mention – you get stuck doing everything at the agency yourself. I figured you'd enjoy leaving me to do all the heavy lifting for a change."

A smile slowly formed on Joe's face. "I did consider that benefit, now that you mention it. Usually you're the one abandoning me to all the paperwork. Turn about is fair play."

Frank stared back in mock-astonishment. "Turn about? You realize you're comparing deep cover to babysitting a movie star, don't you? Your being at parties while I'm stuck doing your paperwork isn't what _I'd_ call fair play."

Joe started twirling the spoon again. "Yeah, 'bro, but – freak that you are – you _like_ paperwork. I only do it because I have to."

"Tell me about it," Frank groaned. "Speaking of which, I read the Patterson report, and..."

"You were at the office this morning?" Joe was incredulous. "It's Saturday! You really are a freak." A beeping sound came from his watch. He pressed a button, turning off the alarm, then looked back at Frank. "And as much as I'd like to continue with that line of thinking, that's my cue." He pushed back his chair. "Wish me luck."

"Break a leg." Frank finished his coffee, making a face at its now-cold temperature, and started gathering his papers.

"What?"

"Theater slang for good luck." Joe nodded absently, his mind obviously somewhere else. "Maybe I _should_ be the one doing this," Frank commented. "At least I know the lingo." Joe started to open his mouth, and Frank rolled his eyes. "Just go. Some of us have real work to do... Like rewriting their younger brother's report so the client has the ability to understand it." Joe grimaced out a smile, then stood and headed for the door.

He turned back for a moment before exiting and saw Frank smile reassuringly. Joe nodded once, then pushed the door open and left for his appointment.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The meeting didn't start off well. When Joe entered Montvale's office, Anna Gold was sitting sideways in a chair in the corner of the room, hiding in the shadows. She refused to speak to or look at him, her raven black hair hiding her face, stealing the occasional glance at him from the corner of her eye as Montvale greeted him and made small talk. When Montvale left the room to take a call, she tensed, drew her feet up onto the chair, and sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. Joe groaned inwardly. _If it's like this every time, this is going to be a long assignment._ Finally, he stood and crossed over to her, his hands out in front of him. "Hi. My name is Joe Hardy, and I'll be your playing the role of your boyfriend for the foreseeable future. Would you like to hear the specials?"

That got him his first real look. She shook the hair out her face and gazed up at him with brown eyes so dark, they were almost black. "What?" Her voice was deep and rich. He could almost imagine her singing the word rather than speaking it.

"It's a joke. You know... actors... waiters." He let out a breath. "Okay, maybe not. Do I at least get credit for trying?"

Her expression remained suspicious, but Joe could see a smile hovering around her lips. "Half-credit. It wasn't that funny."

He knelt down so he could look in her eyes. "Look, Anna, there are three things you need to know about me. First, I won't hurt you; I promise you that. Second, I'm going to do my best to make sure no one else hurts you, either; that's my job. Third," he paused and cleared his throat, "I have a girlfriend. I'm not looking to use this assignment as a way to hook up with you. Once we catch whoever's doing this, I go back to spending my free time with her."

She looked at him, the suspicion gone, replaced by astonishment. "That's very... forthcoming. And your girlfriend doesn't mind?"

Joe blew out a breath. "She doesn't know yet." Anna raised her eyebrows in surprise. "She's FBI. I figure she'll give a minute to explain before she shoots." He paused, remembering his last conversation with Kara. "At least, I hope so. "

Montvale walked back in the room. "I'm so sorry. That took longer than I..." He froze, seeing Joe and Anna so close together.

"No worries," Joe said, standing and shaking out his legs. "We were just about to leave for lunch." He turned to Anna and offered her his arm. "Ready for our debut?"

She unfurled herself from the chair, and threaded her arm through his. "Ready as I'll ever be. How do you feel about burgers? I know a great place not too far from the theater."

Joe grinned. "A woman after my own stomach. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sunday

* * *

><p>Frank met with Montvale at the agency the next day. Joe had reported that his and Anna's lunch had gone well. Not only did Anna seem comfortable with him, but one of the other diners had gotten several pictures of them together and had sold them to an entertainment website that posted pictures of stars doing everyday things like shopping and laundry. The Internet was now buzzing with the news that Anna Gold had been seen out with a new guy. Frank hoped the stalker had taken notice as well. Now he needed to get to work finding out who was after Anna.<p>

"Thank you for coming." He ushered Montvale into his office. "I'd like to see the police reports on the notes Anna has been receiving since she came to New York. Can you get them for me? I'll also need the reports from the LAPD, so I can compare them."

Montvale sniffed disdainfully. "We haven't notified the police."

Frank was flabbergasted. "Your client left L.A. because she was being stalked, and you didn't notify the police that the harassment had started up again?"

At this the agent squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable. "Stephen felt the publicity wouldn't be good for the play. They're having enough trouble with all those churches picketing the theater every day."

"I thought all publicity was good publicity?" Montvale shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Frank got the feeling he wasn't going to answer the question. "Tell me you at least still have the notes so I can examine them for clues."

Montvale looked down at the floor. "I'm afraid they are gone. They were upsetting Anna, so..."

Frank's face formed a cold mask. "I'm beginning to wonder if there really are notes. Does Ms. Gold really need protection, Mr. Montvale, or is this a publicity stunt of a different kind?"

"She really is being threatened, Mr. Hardy!" Fear became evident in Montvale's voice. He straightened in his seat. "The notes were all variations on a theme – how awful it would be for the play if something happened to her, how dangerous New York can be for a woman alone – things of that nature. They were printed from a computer on plain, white paper and left at different places in the theater. I swear when... if another appears, I will make sure you get it." His eyes pleaded with Frank. "I have to keep her safe, Mr. Hardy."

Frank stood. "We'll do everything we can, Mr. Montvale. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work I need to finish." He showed the agent out, then sat back down at his desk. He pushed aside his laptop and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. _He really was afraid,_ Frank thought, _but how much of that fear was for Anna?_ He stared at the paper for a minute then started writing a list:

1. Contact LAPD for details on their investigation of Anna's stalker case

2. Have Joe talk to Anna about the notes received in New York

3. Find investor list for Adoration

4. Look into Montvale's other clients and business ventures.

He knew he could use his FBI contacts to get the first item taken care of with no problem, and Joe would know when and how to approach Anna for details of the current round of notes. He sat and looked at the third item, remembering the expression on Montvale's face as the man spoke about the play and publicity. _And I'm pretty sure I know whose name is going to appear on that list of backers._ If he was right, affection wasn't Montvale's only motivation for his concern; if Frank was right, he had a vested interest in the play's success. _Or its failure. I wonder which is more important.  
><em>

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Wednesday

* * *

><p>Kara showed up at the agency in the morning looking exhausted, a newspaper rolled up in her hand. Joe ushered her into his office, a smile lighting his face. "When did you get in?" He reached out his arms to hug her, stopping when he saw the picture on the front of the paper and the stony expression on her face. His heart sank. "Kara, let me explain," he pleaded. "It's not what you think."<p>

"Really, Hardy? Then what is it?" Kara's voice was quiet and cold. "I hope it's a good story, because I'm not in the mood for anything else right now."

Sweat broke out on Joe's forehead. "It's a security detail." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to hide his nervousness. "Stalker case. I know what it looks like, but we're not really dating. It's just a cover; I had to have a reason to be hanging around her so much." He paused. "Frank's working the clues to see if we can find out who's harassing her." He held his breath, waiting for a reaction, relief flooding through him as her rigid stance relaxed. He put his hands gently on her shoulders and pulled her toward him, letting out a long relieved breath as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "I told her about you first thing," he said quietly. "I wanted to make sure she knew I was involved with someone." He buried his face in her hair. "I think she was relieved."

"Good." Kara's voice was muffled, but Joe could hear the ferocity in it. "I... I didn't know what to think, and after the week I've had..." She pulled away and looked at him intently. He'd never seen her look so drained. "We're still on for the presentation?"

Joe nodded. "I told them I had somewhere else I had to be that night." He put a hand under her chin. "Kara, I'm going to be there for you. I promised."

"I just needed to be sure. I have to know I can count on you." Her voice was so soft, Joe had to lean over to catch the words. "Right now I'm so tired, I don't know my own name."

He hugged her to him again and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Go home before you fall over. I'll come over..." He stopped, realizing he didn't know when that would be. "When I can," he finished.

Kara cocked her head to one side, then reached up and pulled his face down to hers. "I know," she whispered, then she kissed him. Joe felt his skin tingle where she touched him and for a moment wished his office door had a lock on it. He tightened his arms around her, reveling in the feeling of her in his arms. Then she pulled away, her hand grabbing at her pocket. "Malone," she said as her cell phone touched her ear, then she sighed. "Fine. I'll be right there." She threw Joe an apologetic glance as she put the phone away. "I have to go."

He kissed the palm of her hand. "I miss you."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You keep saying that. Good." The door closed behind her.

Joe closed his eyes, sighed, and hoped they'd find the culprit soon. Anna made a good friend, but Kara was much more, and he didn't think he could stand spending much more time apart from her. He kicked the floor once in frustration, then went back to his desk to see what Frank had left for him to do.


	6. Act 2, scene 1

Dating a movie star definitely came with good perks, Joe decided. _All right, not _really_ dating_ _but still._.. Even when alone, he no longer had to wait in line at the bank or post office, clerks started offering unexpected discounts at stores he shopped in regularly, and last minute restaurant reservations suddenly became no problem. Busy contemplating his good fortune, he was momentarily blinded when another flash went off in his face as he and Anna strolled up and down Fifth Avenue. _Okay, most of the perks_.

Since their first lunch out, Joe and Anna had become favorite targets of the New York paparazzi. Although Anna preferred privacy and quiet nights in, Joe managed to convince her that if their act was to work, they needed to be seen together in public on a regular basis. "The press is fickle. If we're not in their faces constantly, they'll forget about us, and we need your stalker to know I'm around." She had unhappily agreed with his assessment, and Joe's evenings were now filled with parties, dinners out, and visits to trendy dance clubs. Random afternoons were spent at the theater, watching Anna rehearse and wishing Frank had this part of the job instead. The activity surrounding the production was overwhelming; everywhere he turned there were cast members, props people, lighting and sound technicians, and the backers. _I can't keep all these people straight. And who wrote this stuff? It's boring. At least to me. Frank might appreciate it more._

Messages continued to appear at the theater. Most were letters addressed to the play's author, protesting his interpretation of Mary Magdalene's relationship with Jesus and interactions with the Apostles. A few came for other cast members questioning their motive for being affiliated with such a production. The rest were for Anna. Joe collected those notes and organized them into three piles.

The first consisted of letters from people calling her a scarlet woman for taking the lead role in Stillwater's play. These were usually delivered by the various messenger services in the city, so Joe was able to discount them as people who just wanted to make their opinion known. Even though the wording on some then held threats of unspecified violence, Joe didn't find them credible. The second pile were from fans wanting an autograph or a picture which came to the theater through the mail. Joe rolled his eyes at these, thinking there were more effective ways of making these requests. The third pile was the one that concerned Joe, these were the ones from the stalker. The contained messages that were all variations on a theme – someday Anna would be his, no one would ever love her the way he did, he was watching every move she made. _Standard enough creep fare._

The notes, all on plain, white paper with computer-printed words, materialized inside costumes, fell out of scripts, and were found on chairs, but never more than one every few days. They seemed to ignore the fact that Joe existed, something which both Joe and Frank found extremely interesting. Everyone at the theater believed he and Anna were now a couple, so the fact that the stalker didn't mention Joe suggested one of several things: either the stalker paid no attention to local media, he had been told by someone that the relationship wasn't real, or the notes had been pre-written and were being doled out one at a time on some sort of schedule. Another option did occur to Joe, but he was careful to not to share it with Anna. _He could be crazy, _Joe thought_._ _He's got to be nuts if he's doing this with all these people around._

As each note appeared, Anna grew more withdrawn, only coming alive when onstage or acting out her public role as a happy lover. It was only when she and Joe were alone that he could see the fear she hid from everyone, and this made him angry. Spending so much time together, he was getting to know her as a person and was starting to consider her a friend. More than anything, he wanted to get this guy so she could smile for real again.

The intense level of activity had definite downsides as well. Between protecting Anna, investigating the notes, and stopping in at the office whenever he could, in what seemed to be a futile attempt to keep up on at least some of his casework, Joe lost all sense of time. It got so bad that Frank found him in the office one Sunday morning working on a diagram for security cameras for one of their clients. It took Frank almost a half hour to prove to Joe what day it was. He then stood and chuckled as his younger brother threw his hands in the air and stalked out, swearing under his breath.

The biggest downside was that it left him no time to be with Kara.

Kara's money-laundering case had heated up again, forcing her team to work day and night, and somehow their off hours never seemed to match. Unable to see her, Joe left her voicemail messages every few days. Static crackled through most of Kara's return calls, leading Joe to believe she was either out of state or even out of the country. He saved each of her messages, listened to them all over and over so he could hear her voice, and hoped it wouldn't be too long before they could actually see each other again. Walking around town with Anna, his arm wrapped around her waist or holding her hand, felt like cheating. It was Kara he needed in his arms, and her absence was a physical ache. At night alone in his apartment, he lay staring at the ceiling, feeling like half of him was missing. He hated it, and hoped he'd find the asshole scaring Anna soon, so he could punch him out and get his life back. Instead he settled for punching his pillow as he failed yet again to get some sleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Rather then providing answers, Frank's findings added more questions to the mix. He had contacted the LAPD for information about Anna's stalker only to find the twenty-eight-year-old man was in jail having been found guilty of criminal harassment. Anna had placed a restraining order on him several years ago, so this round of stalking was not only his second offense, but he had violated the restraining order as well and had been sentenced to three years in California state prison. _Dead end,_ Frank thought. _Not helpful. So who is it?_ He knew both from Montvale's initial information – which he didn't entirely trust – and from Joe's reports, the threatening notes all appeared in the theater. Joe had given him a list of the actors in the cast and as many of the crew members as he could, but what Frank needed was to be there himself, watching the interactions between the different people. It wasn't that he didn't trust Joe's observations, he just felt more than one perspective could be useful. _We just need to find a way to get me in there without raising suspicion._ Frank decided to put those thoughts on the back burner and concentrate on fact-finding for now. _No sense bumbling around without enough information._

A visit to the local branch of the NY Public Library's back issues of Variety yielded information about Adoration's investors. Frank was able to discount several individuals listed as having put sizable amounts of cash into the play as theater angels who had backed other Stillwater productions. The three remaining investors were corporations. Frank pulled out his laptop and after a few hours was able to verify that two of them had invested in other plays over the years. The last one was a fairly recently incorporated entity with no investment history and no listed owners, but by searching through the library's business databases, Frank finally found what he had expected to find. Pierre Montvale's name was listed as one of the owners. _Bingo._ He packed up his things and left the building, pulling out his cell phone as soon as he got outside. "Joe?"

Joe's voice sounded muffled. "Huh?"

"Are you awake?"

Frank heard other voices in the background, then Joe saying "Yeah, sorry. I'm taking it outside." There was a pause, then he whispered, "Give me a second. I've got to get away from the stage." The sound of footsteps came through the phone, then Joe's voice came back on. "Man, thank you. I thought I was going to die of boredom in there. How can you watch that stuff? I can't even follow..."

"Montvale's one of the investors." There was a long pause on the other end. "Joe, did you catch that?"

Joe let out a long breath. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. The state Division of Corporations has him listed as an owner."

This time Joe whistled. "Should I tell Anna?"

Frank thought for a moment. "I hate to say this, but yes. I don't want to worry her more without need, but we need to know if she knows. I mean, he's been her agent for years, so it may be legit, but I'd like to know for sure." He shook his head and let out a frustrated breath. "I hate not having enough information. Is she okay?"

"No. She's tense. It's been a few days since the last note. It's like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Frank could hear the tension in his brother's voice. "How are _you_ doing?"

"I'm managing." He didn't sound happy.

There wasn't much Frank could say to that. "Okay. I'll keep digging and see if I can come up with anything else. Are you coming in the office any time soon?"

"Tomorrow, I think."

"Okay, little brother. I'll try see you then." Frank hung up the phone, shouldered his messenger bag, and headed off, his mind busy working on how to get into the theater.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Joe didn't make it to the office the next day or for several more days after that. Anna hadn't known about Montvale's investing, but before Joe could ask more about her relationship with her agent, another note appeared at the theater, this one fluttering down from the lighting booms, forcing him to spend the next day or two wandering around the lighting and set crews, joking with them while watching and listening in hopes of catching the perpetrator unawares. All he found for his trouble was a silk handkerchief up on one of the catwalks. None of the stagehands claimed it, although several said if he couldn't find the owner they'd be happy to take it off his hands. His face grew stormier with each negative response until Anna pulled him aside and practically ordered him to leave.

"I think you need to spend some quality time with your brother." She gently touched his face. "You look totally worn out. You need some rest." Joe started to protest, but she cut him off. "I've got a girls' night scheduled tonight, remember? I set it up right after you first... when we started dating."

Joe was suddenly conscious of other ears listening nearby. He nodded, then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "You're right," he said. "See you tomorrow?" She smiled, and he left, suddenly feeling absolutely exhausted.

When Joe got to the office, he found Frank's door shut and Chet barricaded behind his desk by three determined-looking young ladies who obviously didn't like whatever it was he was telling them. "He can't avoid our calls forever," the taller of the two blondes was saying. "He can't spend _all_ his time with her."

"We paid for this date fair and square," the shorter blonde girl said. The third girl, Asian with straight, black hair falling past her shoulders, nodded in agreement.

Joe cocked his head to one side. The girls looked familiar. Then it came to him: the sorority girls from the charity auction. _Man, I must be tired. You think I would've known them straight off._

Chet caught his eye and shook his head ever-so-slightly. "I'm sorry, ladies, but Mr. Hardy isn't available right now. He's got a long-standing engagement this evening." Joe threw his friend a grateful look and slowly started backing towards the door. "If you leave me a number where you can be reached, I'll have him call you as soon as he's available."

As the two blonde girls complained, the Asian girl took out a compact to check her makeup, then whipped around as her eyes met Joe's in the mirror. Joe groaned. "Madison? Angela?" She jerked her head in Joe's direction, her hair swinging. "I think we found him." The two blondes squealed as she walked towards him, her four-inch heels clicking on the floor tiles. She poked Joe in the chest with her index finger, then dragged it up to his chin. "You owe us a date, Joe Hardy, and we're here to collect."

Joe had to hand it to Chet; his friend tried valiantly to rescue Joe from the evening, explaining repeatedly – and more forcefully than Joe thought was necessary – that Joe was booked for the evening, that he really wasn't available. The Asian girl – Joe remembered her name was Ellen – snapped her fingers at her friends, and the three of them hustled him out of the office. He shrugged his shoulders in a resigned fashion as he waved goodbye to Chet. _Let's just get this over with, _he thought._  
><em>

Once at the club the girls had picked out, Joe's newfound celebrity status not only got them in without waiting in line, it also got them a private table. As they sat down, Joe reached into his jacket so he could tuck his cell phone into the front pocket of his pants. It was gone.

"Looking for this?" Angela or Madison – Joe wasn't sure which of the blondes was which – was waving his phone in the air. He grabbed for it. "Uh, uh, uh. We don't want any interruptions tonight, so I'm going to keep this safe for now." She slipped the phone into a pocket sewn into the seam of her shirt, then leaned forward in what Joe assumed was supposed to be a seductive manner. "Unless you want to get it yourself." He put his hands up in surrender. The girl made a disappointed face, then grabbed his hands and led him to the dance floor.

As far as Joe was concerned, time had never moved so slowly. The girls seemed to be having a great time. When he could hear them over the music, they chattered about inconsequential things like who at the club was wearing what or drinking what or had dibs on which cute guy, all of which drove home exactly how much his taste in women had changed. _I can't believe I used to find this at all attractive, _he thought, wondering wistfully what Kara was doing at that moment.

Finally, he'd had enough. He grabbed Ellen's arm and pulled her over to the bar where the din was less. "I have to go," he said. "I have to be back at work tomorrow." She pouted and tried to argue with him. "Look, you got your date. _I have to go._"

"Fine." She danced back over to the blonde girl who had Joe's phone, then came back with it in her hand. "Angela said to tell you there are probably a couple of messages. She felt it buzzing." Joe swore. "You don't have to be that way about it. You had fun, didn't you?" Joe just held out his hand. "Well, I know I did. Call me when you decide you've had enough of your movie star."

"Not likely," Joe muttered under his breath as he walked quickly away. By the time he got outside, Joe had already accessed his voicemail. Two of the messages were from Chet asking him to call with his location. "I'll come get you, buddy. You need to be at... seven... Call me as soon..." Joe figured the reception in the club wasn't good enough to allow the whole message to get through.

The next message was from Frank. "Joe? Chet... What in... going on? Where... Kara..." Joe started. Was something wrong with Kara? His heart started pounding.

Kara's voice was next, and relief washed over Joe as he realized she was all right. Her voice was so soft, he couldn't make out what she was saying. He replayed her message, his face growing puzzled as the words came clear. "I thought I could count on you. I guess I was wrong. Don't call me again."

Joe scrolled through the voicemail options to get the time of Kara's call. It had come at 10:41pm, but the time wasn't what caught his attention. Joe felt the blood drain from his face as he noticed the date stamp, and suddenly Chet's overemphasis of his unavailability became clear. It was the twenty-third, the night of the scholarship presentation. He swore again and started running.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I don't want to talk to you." Kara's voice was a flat monotone. Although she had opened the door, the security chain was on, leaving only inches of open space. Joe couldn't see her and figured she must be standing behind it.

"Kara, I'm sorry! I lost track of the date." Joe realized how lame the words sounded. He tried to reach a hand through the door's small opening, the other carefully balancing a cardboard tray with two styrofoam cups stuck in it. "Please just let me in. I brought hot chocolate. We can talk."

"No."

"Kara, please," he pleaded. "What do you want me to do?"

Kara peered out through the crack. Here eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles stood out under them. Joe's heart sank at the sight of her looking so vulnerable and hurt. "I want you to leave. Now." The monotone shook just slightly on the last word. She turned and started to shut the door.

Joe wedged his foot between the door and its frame. "I know you. You don't really want that. Tell me what you _really_ want."

"What I _want_?" The expression on her face hardened, and her voice rose in anger. "I want to know where you were tonight when I needed you. After you _promised _you'd be there." She was yelling now. "And you must be rubbing off on me, because what I _really_ want is to haul off and belt you so hard, you'll come close to hurting as much as I do right now. " Her voice broke. "Just leave, Joe. Now." She took a deep breath, then raised her eyes to his. "And don't come back."

Joe suddenly found it very hard to breathe. His hand fell to his side, and he staggered backwards, reeling. "You don't mean that." A lump formed in his throat. "Kara..."

She looked at him for a long minute before speaking. "Goodbye, Joe." She shut the door.

Joe stood frozen in place, the hot chocolate forgotten, and stared at the door. He bent over and gently placed one of the steaming cups on the floor next to Kara's apartment. He put one hand on her door and stood still for a moment, then swallowed hard once, set his jaw, and walked away.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The loud, hammering noise coming from the hallway at two in the morning woke Frank from a deep sleep. He stumbled from his bed, drawing a robe around his shoulders and swearing under his breath, then yanked the door open, prepared to ream out the college students who lived next door for disturbing his sleep yet again that night. The words died on his lips before the door was completely open.

"Frankie? Hey, 'bro, I wake you?"

"Joe?" Frank stared at his younger brother. Joe looked terrible. His shirt was stained, his blue eyes were bloodshot, and he swayed on his feet as he stood the hallway. Frank put an arm around Joe's shoulders and guided him into the apartment, recoiling slightly as Joe exhaled in his direction. "You're drunk," he said, his voice critical. "What the hell is wrong with you? Where have you been? You didn't drive here, did you?"

Joe sank onto Frank's sofa. "Subway," he answered. "Not _that _stupid." Frank watched as Joe's eyes filled with tears. "Close, though."

Frank shook his head. The tears explained the reason behind his brother's condition. "She broke up with you."

"That's why you're the brains of the operation," Joe slurred. "Got it in one." He hiccoughed, and one of the tears spilled over, leaving a trail on his face. "You were right, and I was an idiot." He reached up with one hand and absently wiped the tear away, then looked up at his older brother, his expression crumpling. "Frank, what do I do?" Another tear followed the first, but Joe ignored it.

Frank put a hand on the top of Joe's head and rubbed his hair. "Right now? You go to sleep." He knelt down and took Joe's shoes off, then went to the closet for a blanket and pillow. "Come on, little brother, lie down. I'd tell you it'll be better in the morning, but I don't want to lie to you." He tucked the blanket around his brother's shoulders. "Joe," Joe's eyes meandered over to Frank, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry." Joe nodded, then his eyes drifted closed. Frank pulled a chair over from the table and settled in to watch his brother sleep.


	7. Act 2, scene 2

Frank was right. The morning wasn't any better. Joe woke with a mouth that felt like sandpaper, a pounding headache, and an undimmed memory of the previous night's events. He forced himself into a sitting position, making sure to keep his eyes closed until his equilibrium leveled out. Turning to the side, he was shocked to see Frank asleep in a chair next to the sofa. _He must've been there all night. _Joe sat stunned for a moment, just looking at his brother, then shook out his blanket and draped it over Frank's shoulders. Slowly, he put his shoes back on, rose from the sofa, and headed towards the door. He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, then tiptoed back to the kitchen area, ripped a piece of paper from one of the notebooks Frank had neatly stacked on the table, and wrote 'Thank you. For everything. – Joe'. Then he crossed back to the door and left as quietly as he could, not wanting to face his brother's sympathy in the morning light.

After a shower, a change of clothes, and some aspirin, Joe felt marginally more like himself. _At least physically_, he thought, closing his eyes and shaking his head. _Okay, work. Work will help._ He checked his cell phone and found a message from Anna saying she was at the theater having a costume fitting. "I shouldn't be too much longer," her voice said, fabric rustling in the background, "then we can go for breakfast." He checked the time stamp. _Only twenty minutes ago. Good._

By the time he arrived, she was finished and waiting for him in the green room, reading from a notebook that she tucked in her bag as soon as she saw him. She didn't usually have to go in early on Saturdays, she explained, but there had been an emergency with her costume. "They said the mock-up disappeared." She rolled her eyes. "I think one of the new apprentices didn't understand the washing instructions, and something happened to it. They needed me to come in for a re-do." She shrugged, a smile causing the dimple in her left cheek to show. "It happens. So, are you up for waffles? I know this great diner we can go to. We can call this outing 'breakfast with paparazzi'. So we can differentiate from every other meal we eat out, I mean."

"Sure. Sounds good." Joe knew his voice sounded flat, but he couldn't muster up much enthusiasm for having his picture taken right now. Or even for waffles.

Anna's smile faded. "Joe, are you okay?" He shrugged, trying to keep his expression impassive as they walked through the dim light of the theater. "You're not coming down with a cold, are you? You really should wear a sweater or something." She tilted her head to the side. "Tell you what. We can do waffles another time. Let's go back to my place, and I'll make you some chicken soup. We've been out so much lately that some time not in the spotlight will make a nice change." Joe shrugged again and tried to smile, aware that Anna was watching him intently.

The trip back to her apartment was awkward. Initially, Joe tried to put his arm around Anna's waist and hold her close – the way they usually walked in public – but couldn't make himself do it. It was too much of a reminder of who wasn't there beside him and wouldn't be again. She stopped, put a hand on his shoulder, and looked up at him with concerned eyes. "Joe, what's wrong?"

_I'm really not that good of an actor, am I?_ Joe sighed, wondering how to explain his mood given the fact they were now in public. "Remember that third thing I told you about myself when we met?" She thought for a moment, then nodded. Joe swallowed the lump he could feel forming in his throat. "Let's just say my free time just became more free." His voice grew hoarse and cursed inwardly. He didn't want to be showing emotion right now.

Anna's dark eyes narrowed with worry. "Because of me?"

"No," he said, his voice as firm as he could make it. "Because of me."

She threaded her arm through his, compassion and understanding on her face. "I'm sorry." She patted his shoulder, then leaned her head against it as they started walking again. Apparently she wasn't going to ask more questions, and after a few minutes, Joe felt himself start to relax. It was almost pleasant walking this way, with no need for additional conversation.

They walked in silence all the way to Anna's building and through the lobby, where she smiled at the doorman as they passed by. When they got to Anna's door, Joe leaned up against the wall and sniffed the air. There was a definite floral fragrance surrounding them. "Boy," he said, trying to shift the mood, "I must live in the wrong neighborhood. Your hallway smells much better than mine."

"Someone must have gotten a bouquet sent to them." Anna wrinkled her nose and sneezed. "Lilies. Ugh. I'm allergic to lilies. Let's get inside quick." She unlocked the door and pushed it open, slamming it shut as fast as she could once they were both inside. She sneezed again as she handed Joe her coat. "Can you hang this up for me? I need to go wash my face. Maybe find some allergy medication. Those things just make my lungs close up."

Joe walked over to the closet with her jacket, noticing as he did that the scent didn't seem to be lessening. He heard a gasp from the kitchen, more sneezing, then a choking sound. The jacket fell to the floor as he ran. "Anna?"

The room was filled with dozens of bouquets of lilies, hundreds of flowers covering appliances, tables, and countertops, their fragrance perfuming the air. Anna sneezed two more times, her hand at her throat, her breath coming in gasps. Fear flooded her face. "Too many... can't... breathe..." More sneezes started coming, one after the other.

Joe's reflexes kicked in. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the silk handkerchief he had found at the theater and put it over her mouth and nose. Then he picked Anna up, threw the front door open, and ran down the hall, cradling her in his arms. The doorman jumped as they crashed into the lobby. "Mr. Hardy, Ms. Gold? Is everything..."

"Do you know which apartment is hers?" Joe roared, not taking his eyes from Anna's face. The man nodded. "Run. Look for allergy medicine in the cabinet in the bathroom." Footsteps echoed in the hall, fading as the man raced away from them.

Joe yanked his cell phone from his pocket, ready to call 9-1-1, but Anna grabbed his arm, her eyes wide and frightened. "No..." She pulled the fabric from her mouth. "Please..." Her breath was still shallow but seemed to be coming easier, and she had stopped sneezing. Joe's lips pressed into a hard line, but he closed the phone and put it away.

Sooner than he would have thought possible, the doorman reappeared with a box of antihistamines, a bottle of water, and an inhaler. He handed Anna the inhaler. "I found this as well. Will it help?" Anna nodded, put the mouthpiece between her lips, and depressed the canister. While she was doing this, the man shook two pills from the box and unscrewed the cap from the water bottle. "Ms. Gold? Can you take these?"

Her breathing now more regular, Anna gave him a weak smile and choked the pills down with a swig from the bottle. "Thank you, Raphael."

Joe settled Anna in the chair at the doorman's desk and gave the man a sharp look. "Were you the one who let the florist's shop in?"

"Florist's shop?" Raphael looked confused. "There was one delivery today. A bouquet of roses came about an hour ago for someone on the eighth floor. I let the driver in myself." He shook his head as his eyes widened in realization of a fact he had initially missed. "The flowers in Ms. Gold's apartment didn't come through the lobby, Mr. Hardy."

"Is there a back door?"

"Yes, sir. All buildings have to have more than way out. New York fire codes mandate it. Someone must have brought them in through the fire door." He looked at Anna, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "I never heard anything. I should have..."

"Raphael, this wasn't your fault." Anna's voice wheezed from the chair. She reached out a hand to Joe. "Joe, I'm going to need to lie down. The pills make me kind of spacy."

Joe gritted his teeth, his desire to check out Anna'a apartment vying with his need to protect her. Finally, he nodded and pulled his cell phone back out. He dialed almost without looking. "Chet? I know it's a weekend, but I need you to meet me at my place as soon as you can get there." He paused, listening. "No. It's Anna." Another pause. "Good. Call Frank. Get him to meet us there. Thanks." He hung up the phone and turned to Anna, still clutching the handkerchief in her hand and now struggling to keep her eyes open. "Come on, pretty lady. Until we can get rid of those flowers, you'll be staying at my place. It's not as clean as yours, but at least there aren't any flowers. Raphael, can you get us a cab?"

"Right away, sir."

The cab came within minutes. As Joe was bundling Anna into the back seat, she looked at him with bleary eyes. "I'm sorry. I hate taking a full dose of these things. They completely knock me out." He brushed the hair from her forehead, but she shook his hand away and waved the handkerchief in front of his face. "Joe? Where did you get this?"

"On one of the catwalks at the theater. Don't worry about it right now." He kept an arm around her shoulders, supporting her.

"Joe," her voice sounded troubled, "it's Pierre's."

Joe sat back, stunned. "Are you sure?"

"I gave it to him on his last birthday." Her eyes started to close, but she shook her head and forced them to focus on his face. "How did it get there?"

"I don't know." Joe swallowed. "Anna, does he know about your lily allergy?" She nodded slowly. "Damn." Her eyes drifted shut, her head drooping to one side. He pulled her closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. You got that? Anna?" She made a small noise in her throat. "I promised you that, and this is one promise I'm keeping." But she was already asleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Frank spent a futile few minutes trying to convince Joe to stay with Anna and let him go with Chet to clean out Anna's apartment. "She doesn't know me from Adam. It makes more sense for you to stay so she's not with a stranger when she wakes up."

"I can't." Joe was fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his eyes sweeping the apartment. Frank saw him flinch suddenly and followed his brother's gaze to a photo on the wall showing Joe and Kara, smiling, with their arms wrapped around each other. Joe's shoulders tightened and his jaw clenched. He turned to look at Frank, his blue eyes shadowed. "Frank, I can't just sit here. I need to be doing something." His eyes wandered back to the wall. "You can talk to her about Montvale while I'm gone. I haven't been involved in that end."

Frank nodded, realizing keeping Joe active right now was probably the best thing. "Okay," he relented, "but just to be safe, do you have any pictures of the two of us together?"

"What?" Joe was still staring at the image of Kara. With a visible effort, he wrenched his gaze away from it. "Uh, yeah. There should be one on the bureau in the bedroom. Hold on."

Frank stayed in the living room with the sleeping Anna as Joe disappeared into his room, emerging a minute or two later with a photo of the two of them that had been taken at their parents' house just after they had opened the agency. They were sitting at the table in the kitchen, a cake in front of them with 'Congratulations!' written in red frosting, Joe's hand making rabbit ears over Frank's head. "You would have a framed copy of that, wouldn't you?" he said in a resigned tone.

Joe's lips twitched into a brief, bitter smile. "She sees this, she'll know we're brothers. You want her to trust you, right?"

A knock at the door saved Frank from having to answer. A breakdown on the subway line had held Chet up, and he apologized as he entered the apartment. Within minutes, Joe had briefed Chet as to what had happened, and the two left to clean and search Anna's apartment. "We can bring the flowers to one of the hospitals when we're done looking at them," Chet said, as they were leaving. "They might as well brighten someone's day." Frank smiled at their friend's thoughtfulness.

For the next few hours, Frank went over his findings on Montvale's investments, then turned to examining the notes Joe had collected from the theater. They were actually fairly mundane as far as stalker notes went. _Whoever he is, he certainly doesn't seem to have a lot of imagination_, Frank thought. Other than the fact they were addressed to Anna, they could have been for any one of the female members of the cast or crew. Anna's fingerprints appeared on most of them, as did Joe's. Of the few other sets of prints he could make out, none of them appeared on more than one piece of paper, leading Frank to believe the stalker must have worn gloves when handling and placing the notes. The paper itself was standard letter paper found in any office or most homes. The font was 12-point, Times New Roman, the default for most word processing programs, and they had been printed on a laser printer. _It almost as if he's doing what he _thinks_ a stalker would do, like it's an act..._

A shifting sound came from the sofa. Frank reached for the photo and a glass of water. When he turned towards the couch, Anna Gold's dark eyes were staring warily at him. "Ms. Gold, I'm Frank Hardy – Joe's brother." He handed her the framed picture, making sure to keep as much distance as he could between them while doing it. She looked from Frank to the picture and back again, then nodded once, drawing the blanket Joe had draped over her farther up her shoulders. Frank offered her the glass. "Here. I know how dry antihistamines can make you. Can I make you some tea?" He headed into the kitchen and rummaged around in Joe's cabinets. "Make that hot chocolate. Joe doesn't seem to have any tea."

"No. Thank you." Her voice was deep, almost musical, but so soft Frank had to walk back over to the sofa to hear her. "Where's Joe?"

"Cleaning out your apartment. Trying to find out how someone got in. Looking for clues." He sat back down in his chair. "He'll be back as soon as he can. Are you all right?"

She gave him a penetrating gaze. "No, but you know that already." She shifted on the couch and moved into a sitting position. "Someone is leaving notes where I work, and now they've broken into my home. I feel... scared... violated."

Frank nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry. We're going to find who's doing this and stop him. I give you my word."

"Did Joe tell you about the handkerchief?" Frank shook his head. "He found it where the last note came from." She pulled her knees up to her chest. "It's Pierre's." She turned her face towards Frank's. "Joe told me what you found out about Pierre's being an investor in the play. I didn't know. He didn't tell me." She dropped her forehead to her knees, and when she spoke again her voice was muffled. "And now the lilies. I don't know who to trust, and if I can't be safe in my own home..."

Frank dropped to his knees, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You can trust Joe. You can trust me." Anna lifted her head. Frank could see tears in her eyes. "We won't let anything happen to you." He watched with concern as her shoulders stayed tense. He let out a breath. "Anna, I think we may need to upgrade your security."

"What?" She started. "But how? I already spend most of my free time with Joe. Are you going to get me a bodyguard, too?"

"I was thinking something a little more subtle," Frank said. "How would you feel about hiring a personal assistant?"

Anna stared at him. "I had one when I lived in L.A., but..."

"Then no one will be surprised if you get one here. It's a perfectly logical thing for you to do. Rehearsals will be getting more intense as you get closer to opening night. You'll need someone to do the shopping, accompany you to the theater, cook your dinner, generally be around all the times your 'boyfriend' can't."

"But hiring a PA can take weeks!" Anna shook her head. "And right now, I'm not sure there's anyone out there I can trust to live in my house."

Frank cocked his head to the side. "I can think of someone." She gave him a puzzled look. "Me."


	8. Act 2, scene 3

Frank spent a futile two hours trying – and failing – to convince Anna to agree to his idea.

"No," she said. The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she pushed her dark hair from her face. Frank was amazed by the intensity of her gaze. "I don't want someone in my home."

"Someone's already _been_ in your home," he pointed out. She flinched and her hands grabbed convulsively at the blanket, knuckles whitening. Frank knelt by the side of the couch. "Look, I know this is hard for you. You don't know me, and I'm trying to convince you to let me intrude on your life for G-d only knows how long. I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't convinced it was necessary to keep you safe. I'd feel better if you had someone with you pretty much all the time." He softened his voice and decided to change how he approached this. "Joe would, too. He considers you a friend, and he doesn't want you to be hurt."

Anna closed her eyes. "I can't say yes right now. I need to think about it." She let out a long breath, shifted her legs so they were under her, then sighed. "When will Joe be back?"

Frank sensed her discomfort with how close he was and moved back to the chair. "I'm not sure," he said. He stood and pointed to the small kitchen. "Are you hungry? I could see if there's anything edible in the fridge."

"Thank you, no." Anna opened her eyes and looked at Frank. "You must think I'm insane."

"No." Frank shook his head. "I think you're scared, and rightly so. I think you feel powerless and need to find something you can have some control over. I can respect that." He moved back to the table and, needing something to do with his hands, started organizing his papers.

Anna nodded and turned away, one hand wiping at her eyes. She covered the movement by appearing to examine the apartment's furniture and décor. "It's very... utilitarian, isn't it?" Frank nodded in agreement. He found Joe's apartment almost spartan, tending more toward function than comfort. The living room had a sofa, chair and coffee table. The walls were bare aside from a handful of photographs scattered about, mostly of their family and friends. Anna gestured towards one with her chin. "Is that her?"

Frank knew without looking what and who Anna referred to. He looked at the photo on the wall Joe had been staring at earlier in the afternoon. "Yes. Her name's Kara."

"She's pretty. Joe seems really torn up." She paused, not taking her eyes from the picture. "Frank?" She suddenly seemed more unsure of herself, younger and more self-conscious. "He said it wasn't... that I wasn't..."

"He was telling you the truth. It wasn't the assignment. There were other... issues." Frank was relieved to see her shoulders relax but hoped they could change the topic. He didn't feel very comfortable discussing his brother's relationship. _Or former relationship, _he thought.

"Do you think..." The rest of the question was cut off as a noise came from the hallway.

The door flew open, and Joe strode in the room, his eyes drawn to Anna sitting up on the couch. "Good, you're awake." Anna threw off the blanket and rose unsteadily to her feet. Joe pulled his hands up and away from her. "Frank?" His voice rang with alarm. Frank reached out to help Anna catch her balance and threw a puzzled glance at his younger brother. "Sorry. I'm covered in pollen." He turned his back to them, showing a piece of paper sticking out of his back pocket. "Chet found this wrapped around one of the vases. Take it." Frank grabbed it. "I'm going to shower. Then we can talk." He disappeared into the bedroom, and a few seconds later, they heard water running.

Frank unfolded the note, only marginally aware of Anna standing behind him, reading over his shoulder. The paper and font resembled the other notes, but this one appeared to have been printed on an inkjet printer; the letters were slightly smudged where water had slopped over the edge of the vase. The message was short and direct. **The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,/ The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:/ While the Lily white shall in love delight,/ Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright. **

Anna let out a strangled cry, and Frank swung around to see the color draining from her face. "Blake," she whispered. "How could he know about that?"

The paper fluttered to the floor. "William Blake? I don't understand. What does..."

The bedroom door opened, and Joe ran out, pulling a t-shirt over his damp hair and dragging a duffel bag behind him. In three strides he was at Anna's side, pulling her into his arms. Frank watched as she gradually relaxed in Joe's embrace. "I promised I'd keep you safe, and I will. Let's get you home."

"Home?" Frank asked. "Joe, are you sure that's a good idea?" He examined his brother. While the arms holding Anna were steady, Joe's face looked haggard. Dark circles stood out under his blue eyes, and his cheeks were pale. "You look exhausted. Maybe you should both just stay here."

Joe leveled his gaze at Frank. "No. I can't let this guy think he's chased Anna out of her apartment. I talked to the super and got the locked changed. No one's getting in who doesn't have a key."

Anna released herself from Joe's arms. "Are you sure?" She unclenched her arms and traced her fingers over the strap of the duffel bag. "Wait, what's this for?"

"Clothes," Joe replied. He moved his gaze from Anna to Frank. "I wasn't planing on leaving you there alone." A lopsided grin covered his face. "Gossip columns be damned. I'm sleeping on your couch for the foreseeable future."

Frank sighed. "Joe, I still think..."

"No. If she stays here, he wins." The grin faded and was replaced by a look of willful determination. "I'll keep her safe until we catch him." He glanced back at Anna. "If you're okay with this, that is. If you want to go somewhere else, I'll take you there."

"I'd prefer to be at home"

Frank nodded reluctantly. He knew this wasn't an argument he could win. "Fine, but do me a favor. Check in with me every couple of hours, so I know everything is all right." Joe nodded. "And you should put my number on Anna's cell." Joe cocked his head to the side. "In case your battery dies again," Frank explained. "I'd rather be safe than sorry."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They stopped at a small pizzeria on the way back to Anna's apartment. "We seem to have missed most of our meals today," Joe said. "This place has a great cheeseburger pizza. It's not as good as our friend Tony's back in Bayport, but it runs a close second."

Anna wrinkled her nose. "I'm more of a veggie pizza person, but you go ahead. I'll just have a salad."

Once seated, Joe started feeling the lack of decent sleep from the night before. _Note to self,_ he thought, _drowning my sorrows in alcohol? Not such a good idea._ He pushed away the memory of why he'd been drinking, put his elbows on the table, and lowered his chin to his hands. The heat from the pizza oven was making him drowsy, and he found himself starting to doze.

"Joe. Joe?" Anna was shaking his arm. He started. "Your phone is buzzing."

Joe shook his head, feeling bleary and overheated. He grabbed the cell from the tabletop, scrolled through the text message, and rolled his eyes. "Frank," he explained. "He wants to know if I fell asleep during dinner." A sigh escaped his lips. "I guess he was right. I am kind of tired." He grimaced. "Just don't tell him I said so."

Anna's eyes held a speculative look. "It sounds like he's right a lot," she said.

Joe nodded. "He's a genius" he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "It makes being around him frustrating sometimes." He paused and chuckled. "Wow. That sounded awful. I don't mean it that way." His eyes grew distant. "We rank on each other a lot, but Frank's the one person I know I can always count on. He's always got my back. Always. He's just a bit of a mother hen." He brought his eyes back to Anna's. "Don't tell him I said that either, please. He'd probably use four-syllable words when he yelled, and I'm not up for trying to decipher insults right now."

She smiled crookedly at him. "I won't. His checking up on you is actually kind of sweet." She paused, her fork moving the food around on her plate. "He thinks I need more protection."

Joe reached across the table and took her hand. "You have more protection now. I'm not leaving you alone until we get this guy. You have my word."

"Anna?" From the corner of his eye, Joe could see someone approaching their table. He tensed, sure he'd seen the guy before. Mid-thirties, sandy hair, brown eyes, otherwise unremarkable. _Photographer?_ he wondered, trying to place the face and voice. "Nice to see you outside the theater."

Anna's face opened in welcome, her eyes sparkling. "Hey, Brian, how are you?"

Joe's memory clicked. Brian Jackson, the play's stage manager. It was odd seeing him without his headset and the myriad sheets of paper the man carried everywhere. He was looking at Joe with raised eyebrows, and Joe realized he'd been asked a question. "Uh, sorry, I guess my mind's stuck in the sheets." He leaned down and grabbed his bag, then stuffed his phone in his coat pocket. "Speaking of which, we should head home now."

An odd look passed over the stage manager's face as he backed away towards the door. He turned to Anna. "See you at rehearsal," he muttered.

Once he was gone, Anna grabbed Joe's arm. "Joe, what were you thinking?" Indignation flooded her face. "Stuck in the sheets? He thinks we're going home to have sex!" Her voice was an angry whisper.

"That's not what I meant!" Joe spluttered, his face turning red. "He's always carrying around all that paper..."

Anna rolled her eyes. "I think it's time you get some sleep Mr. Hardy." As embarrassed as Joe felt, he had to admit, it was good to see the anxiety leave her face. He nodded in agreement, and they left the restaurant.

The night air was cool, and, for once, the street was empty of reporters and photographers. Joe took off his jacket and wrapped it around Anna's shoulders to keep her from getting chilled. They hadn't gotten far when they heard a voice. "Dude, you got the stuff?" Joe shifted so Anna was on the street side of the walkway, away from whoever it was. "They said you had it. I need it bad. I haven't had a hit all day."

"You got the wrong people, friend. We don't have anything you want." Joe put an arm across Anna's back and started walking faster. He heard the swooshing of some object through the air, pushed Anna several feet ahead of him, and leaned to the side, narrowly avoiding getting hit.

"He _said_ you had the stuff!" The man was clearly high as a kite. And enraged. He picked up his weapon – a baseball bat – and swung it at Joe again. Joe heard Anna dialing 9-1-1 on his cell phone. All he had to do was keep the guy occupied and away from her until the police showed up. "Where is it? I need it now!" Another swoosh as the bat came dangerously close to his close to his nose. "_Now_!"

"Anna, run!" Joe called. He had to get her away from this. From the corner of his eye, he saw the bat coming at him again and feinted to the left, his exhaustion sending him down just a fraction of an inch too far, and he stumbled on a bit of uneven pavement. Sirens rang in the distance. _Good. Get the cops here ASAP, _he thought. As he straightened up to move, the bat caught him on the side of his head. He felt the force of it as it crashed by his ear. A blinding light flashed behind his eyes, then blackness.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Frank almost ran through the emergency room. One of the nurses gave him a cursory glance, then raised four fingers at him. He nodded his thanks and continued on his way, only stopping when he heard someone call his name. "Frank. I'd like to say it's nice to see you again, but..."

"Dr. Fitzgerald. How is he?" Frank cut across the doctor's greeting, needing to get information about Joe's condition.

The doctor stroked his beard. "He regained consciousness briefly in the ambulance, but not since then. He'll be here until he wakes up again, then we'll admit him so we can keep an eye on him overnight. At the very least, he has a concussion and will need to limit his activity for a few weeks. We'll know more when he comes to."

Frank closed his eyes and let out a breath. "Do you know what happened?"

"The girl who came in with your brother said the attacker was high. There's an officer outside the room waiting until he can give a statement." A passing nurse handed him a note. "I'm sorry. I have to go see another patient. Call when he opens his eyes." He touched Frank's shoulder as he passed. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

Frank nodded, and headed towards room four. After showing the officer his license, Frank was allowed in. Anna stood by Joe's bed, her face white, tears in her eyes. Frank put an arm around her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"Joe saved me." She swallowed. "Frank, the guy was crazy. He thought we had drugs. Joe pushed me out of the way, and I called 9-1-1. Joe stayed between us, ducking and trying to grab the bat, but..." She was shaking now. "When he hit the ground, I threw Joe's bag at the guy." Her breathing became faster. She turned to Frank. "He didn't even blink. He just grabbed it and ran off."

Frank smiled in spite of himself. "Throwing the bag was a good idea. You probably saved Joe's life. If he'd taken a second swing..." The smile faded. "Thank you."

Their attention shifted as Joe groaned and shifted on the bed. "Where?... Oh, no." Joe put a hand up to his head. "What happened?"

"You were attacked," Frank responded, pressing the call button on the side of the bed. "Do you remember anything?"

"No." Joe closed his eyes and reopened them. "We had dinner, then..." He shook his head gingerly. "Nothing. Is Anna all right?"

"I'm right here," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'm fine. He didn't touch me. You kept me safe."

Joe's head sank further into the pillow. "Good. So when can I leave?"

The door opened, and Dr. Fitzgerald entered the room. "Not until some time tomorrow, my friend." He checked Joe's pulse and eyes. "We've got a bed upstairs with your name on it."

"Is it all right if I stay with him?" Anna's voice was quiet. "He's in here because of me. I want to make sure he's all right."

The doctor glanced at Frank who nodded. "It shouldn't be a problem. Just give us a few minutes to get him settled. Angela can tell you which room," he said to Frank. A nurse and an orderly arrived and started wheeling the bed through the door. "We really have to stop meeting like this, Mr. Hardy," the nurse teased as they left the room.

Anna started to follow them out into the hall, when Frank touched her shoulder. "Have you thought about my suggestion?" he asked. "Joe's going to be out of commission while he recovers."

"Yes." Her voice was low, but steady. "But won't it be obvious you guys are protecting me when you show up as my P.A.? I mean, people know you're detectives. And brothers."

"I've got an idea to cover that." He pulled a business card from his coat pocket. "Joe won't let them keep him past noon. Once he gets released, call this number. I'll tell you where to meet me so I can fill you in. Why don't you head to the nurses' station and find out what room Joe's in? I need to make a call. I'll be along in a second."

Once she had left, Frank pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Marisol? Frank Hardy. Are you busy tomorrow morning?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You're sure he said here?" Joe knew his voice sounded testy, but he couldn't help it. The nurses at the hospital had woken him every hour on the hour to check his vitals, and now he was absolutely exhausted. All he wanted was an ice pack, some aspirin, a bed, and not to be at the office on a Sunday afternoon.

"He was pretty clear," Anna said. "This is where he wanted us."

Joe snorted, regretting the action almost immediately as it made his head ache more. "Only Frank would feel the need to be here now. He probably just needs my signature on some insurance papers." He closed his eyes for a moment, his stomach roiling. "We can hit my place after this. I hope you don't mind a quiet afternoon. Once I get some sleep, we'll get settled in your place."

Anna touched his shoulder and leaned closer to him. "Joe?" she whispered. "Should the door be open?"

Joe's eyes flew open. The door to the office was cracked open an inch or so. He peered through the space, and his jaw dropped. Leaning over Chet's desk was a tall, slender man in skin-tight black jeans, an oversized plaid shirt, and high top sneakers. His black hair was cropped close to head in back but looked like it hung over his face in front. _I so don't need this right now,_ Joe thought. He waved Anna to the side. "Stay here." Gently, Joe put one hand on the door, pushing it open. As silently as he could, he walked into the office, fists in front of him.

"I know you're there, little brother. You need practice sneaking."

"Frank?" Joe ran a hand over his forehead as the man turned around, not believing his what he saw. Frank's brown hair had been dyed an inky black, except for the fire-engine-red fringe that hung over his face. Chunky black plastic glasses framed his eyes, and a small, gold hoop hung from his left ear. "Okay... What happened to you?"

Frank shrugged. "I let Marisol have free rein." He tugged at the waistband of the jeans. "She may have gone overboard just a bit." He turned to Anna. "So, what do you think? Does this" – he indicated his changed appearance with a wave of his hand – "cover your concerns?"

Anna stared at him from the doorway. She gulped loudly. "What about Pierre? He's heard you talk."

"I can manage." Joe stared. Was it his imagination, or did his brother's voice sound different? Frank noticed the look, and smiled. "It's just a matter of relaxing my vocal chords a bit. I just need some practice so it sounds natural." His expression changed to one of concern. "I suggested this to Anna yesterday while you were out, and now..." Frank's voice returned to its normal depth and cadence. "You need time to recover, so we'll switch roles for a while. I'll take over the protection detail, and you come back to the office."

"So, what? Anna's breaking up with me to go out with you?" An edge slipped into Joe's voice.

"No." Anna came up beside him and and put a hand on his shoulder. "He's going to be my personal assistant." She smiled at him. "You still get to play my boyfriend." She turned to Frank. "What do I call you?"

Frank held out his right hand to her. "John Franklin, ma'am," he said, using the other voice.

Joe held up a hand. "How is this going to fly?" He turned to Anna. "I'm sorry to have to bring this up, but no one who knows you is going to buy that you'd let a man you don't know into your home."

Anna swallowed and turned to Frank. "He's right. Pierre knows how... uncomfortable I get."

"I don't think it will be a problem," Frank said. "As long as we don't say anything, people will just assume whatever they want. I'm okay with that if you are." She nodded.

Joe let out an unhappy breath. "No. I promised to keep you safe. I have to be there."

"You are keeping me safe. You're giving me your brother." She put a hand on his cheek. "If this is still going on once you're fully recovered, we can renegotiate." Finally, Joe nodded. The solution didn't thrill him, but it would enable him to keep his promise. Right now, that was all that mattered.


	9. Act 3, scene 1

They sat at Anna's kitchen table with papers spread out all over the tablecloth, Frank leaning over them, Joe's eyes closed as he massaged his forehead. After a full day in the office redesigning the security camera layout for the Patterson project, his vision was getting blurry and had a headache the size of the Empire State Building. He could feel exactly when Frank lifted his head to look at him, could feel the concern emanating from his brother. He peeled his eyes open. "What?"

The light glinted off Frank's glasses as he leaned forward, the inevitable cup of coffee in his hands. "Why don't you go home, little brother? You look completely done in. Dr. Fitzgerald did say to take it easy for a while."

Joe leaned back in his chair, squinting his eyes against the glare. "I _am_ taking it easy," he said. "I'm sitting and everything. I'm not even fidgeting like I usually do." Absently, he started rubbing his head again, flinching as he got too close to the bruised area near his temple. "Do me a favor, though, and take off the glasses. They're making me see rainbows."

Frank lifted a hand to his face in surprise. "Forgot I had them on. It's amazing what you get used to." He put the glasses on the table then swept the bright red bangs from his forehead. "Although they are useful for keeping the hair out of my eyes."

"What made Marisol go with that particular color?" Joe asked, his voice curious. "I mean, it's not like it makes you blend in."

"Strangely enough, it does," Frank answered, sounding oddly clinical. "A lot of theater people live on extremes; they want to stand out. If she'd made me look too – I don't know, average? – I would have stood out more, drawn more notice. As it is, hardly anyone looks at me." He raised his left hand and touched the gold hoop hanging from his earlobe. "As strange as it sounds, like this, I_ do_ blend in."

Joe nodded, the action making his head ring. He grunted. "Okay, so you wanted to compare notes on people. Shoot. Just not literally, please. I'm having enough problems right now." He paused for a second, looking around the kitchen. "Where's Anna? Shouldn't she be in on this?"

Frank shook his head. "I want _your_ input. I know what _she_ thinks of most of these people. I can tell by how she interacts with them at the theater." He moved his empty coffee cup to the side and gestured down the hall. "She's in her room having some private time. One or both of us have been with her constantly for the past few days. I think she needed a break."

"I can see that," Joe said. "Having someone hanging around me all the time would get old quickly. So, who do you want to start with?" He reached out a hand and grabbed a list of names Frank had written out on a sheet of notebook paper. "Stillwater." He cocked an eyebrow at his brother. "Of course, you'd want to start with him."

"Just because I think he's a genius doesn't mean I'm going to keep him off the suspect list," Frank said, a slight edge in his voice. "Besides, I already know that 'genius' doesn't necessarily equal 'nice guy'.

Joe blew out a breath as he organized his thoughts. "Okay, Stephen Stillwater. He thinks highly of himself but doesn't seem to have much use for anyone else. Except Anna and that producer, Milton... something. Jackson. His social skills are somewhat close to nil. The crew hates him 'cause he treats them all like servants." He stopped to think. "I don't think he likes Jackson, I think he tolerates him because he's the primary backer. As near as I can tell the guy's put up the money for Stillwater's last four shows." He paused for a moment. "Anna's different, though. He likes Anna because she really seems to embody the role of Mary Magdalene. It's almost as if he wrote the part with her in mind." Joe watched as Frank's eyes widened. "What?"

"That's an extremely perceptive comment for someone who claims not to understand what the play is about."

Joe shrugged. "You must be rubbing off on me. Don't let it go to your head. I'm still not paying money to go see it once it opens." He shuddered. "Talk about a fate worse than death." Frank smiled. "Anyway, moving on. Milton Jackson... Not much there. He's a pompous ass with more money than G-d. Every time he opens his mouth, he puts his foot in it. He seems to enjoy just being linked to Stillwater. I'm not sure he has enough brains to be stalking someone. Or he's a _really_ good actor." Joe scanned through Frank's list. "Do you want me to comment on everyone?"

Frank shook his head. "Just fill me in on who you think I should watch. I trust your judgment."

"I'd keep an eye on Jason Peters."

"The leading man?" Frank raised his eyebrows.

Joe's lower lip curled. "Guy's a jackass. I'm surprised you haven't seen it yet."

"He hasn't been around the last few days. They've been working on scenes he's not involved in."

"There are some? Could've fooled me." Joe snorted. "Well, you're lucky you haven't had to deal with him yet. You may have noticed there aren't many women involved in this production. He's hit on pretty much all of them – Anna included. While I was standing there, no less. He must be a good actor, because I can't think of anyone _less _suited to play Jesus. He's a walking letch." His eyes narrowed as he considered other names. "Montvale, but you're already watching him." He shifted slightly in his seat. "Oh, here's another one. Brian Jackson, the stage manager. Anna and I ran into him at the restaurant the night I was attacked."

Frank grabbed the paper. "Jackson. Any chance he's related to Milton?" Joe shrugged again. "Any particular reason?"

"Just a feeling. It could have been a coincidence, but..." He left the sentence hanging. "How's it going for you? Any problems so far?"

This time Frank shrugged. "Other than needing to talk to Marisol about her wardrobe concept, it's pretty good. Anna's been great, and the theater people seem to have calmed down. The first day or so, I got a lot of suspicious looks. Then the rumor mill kicked in. Rachel – the props mistress? – asked if I was seeing anyone."

Joe gave his brother a puzzled look. "You mean Cheli, right? African-American woman, mid-forties or so." He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't she a bit old for you?"

Frank's lip twitched. "She wanted to fix me up with her cousin Dwayne. She says he likes the 'avant-garde type', and I'm a lot nicer than most of what he brings home to meet the family." Joe laughed, wincing slightly as the sound echoed through his head. "Somehow I thought you'd find that amusing," Frank said. "On the plus side, no one's questioning my being around Anna anymore." He glanced up at his brother and made a face. "They are asking about you, though. Anna's told them you're involved in a case. I know she misses having you around, but it's probably best for you to keep a low profile until those bruises fade a bit."

Joe sighed. "I know. I just feel useless right now." He caught the sympathetic look Frank was trying to hide which made him feel worse. "Look, I think I've had enough for today. Tell Anna I said hi." He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and went home.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"No! Do it _again._ And try to get it right this time. This isn't that complicated, people. All you need to do is..."

Frank sat backstage watching Stephen Stillwater berate his actors. As both writer and director, he wielded a great deal of authority. _And_, Frank thought, _he doesn't use it judiciously._ While there was no question he was a brilliant writer, Joe's assessment of him had been spot on; the man had no idea how to talk to people. He expected every word that issued from his lips to be greeted with admiration and complete attention. The problem was that virtually everything he said was spoken in a voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt or was shouted at the top of his lungs. Some of the cast and crew were obviously terrified of him and spent most of their time doing everything they could not to garner his attention. Those who weren't frightened, tended to ignore him, causing more shouting. The only exception to this behavior that Frank had seen was Anna. With her he was soft-spoken, almost gentle. _He could be the second stalker. Written words might be the only way he can communicate. _Frank decided he definitely needed more watching.

As Stillwater's diatribe went on, Frank focused part of his mind on the events of the past few evenings. He and Anna had grown accustomed to one another fairly quickly. Frank moved into her guest room, and after the first day, they had developed a routine – days spent at the theater and dinner together making small talk. As soon as the dishes were done, Anna would disappear into her room closing the door behind her. The first few nights Frank heard typing and pages turning, so he assumed she was working on her role and didn't disturb her. Joe had stayed away until the previous night when Frank asked him to stop by so they could compare notes. The reason Joe gave for this was that Anna needed to get used to having Frank around, but Frank suspected Joe's injury was bothering him more than he wanted to let on. His suspicions had been confirmed when his brother had left for home after only limited urging on Frank's part.

Then the evening had gotten strange. Frank had been sitting at the table, gathering up his notes, when he heard voices from down the hall. Silently he had stood and walked down the hall, the voices getting louder as he got closer to Anna's room.

"No, Iz..."

"Not what the text says..."

"Please. Get real... "

"Read it again."

He strained his ears. There were at least four of them, three female and one male. How had they gotten in? He raised a hand and knocked softly. "Anna? Is everything okay?"

There were fluttering paper noises, a muffled curse and Anna's voice. He made out the word "brother", then heard the sound of a laptop being slammed shut. "Hold on. I'm getting changed." Something hit the floor with a thump, then the door flew open. Anna was wearing a blue and white Mercy College sweatshirt and had her long, black hair in two braids. A red bandana was tied over the top of her head, and a pair of glasses were perched on her nose, the earpieces tucked underneath the bandana. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed. Without the makeup and designer clothes, she looked about fifteen years old. "Did Joe go home already?"

Frank blinked in surprise. "I didn't know you wear glasses," he started to say, then realized he was being rude. Of course he wouldn't know.

Anna put a hand up to her face. "Sometimes. Generally not in public. What's up?"

"I heard voices..."

"I was watching a video on my computer," she said, but she didn't quite meet his eyes. "Doing some research. For the play."

Frank nodded, not entirely believing her words. _She's hiding something_, he thought. "I'm heading to bed," he said, changing the subject. "I just wanted to say goodnight."

She nodded and closed the door, but not before Frank got a clear look at what had caused the noise. A book had fallen on the floor – a Norton Critical edition of William Blake's poetry. He had stayed in the hall for a long moment, looking at her door, before going to his room to think.

"Johnny?" Frank started. Obviously he'd been concentrating too hard and had missed something. Anna gave him a concerned look. "I asked if you could get my script. I must have left it in my dressing room. I think it's in my backpack."

"Sure. Sorry, Ms. Gold. I was working out a menu for dinner. I'll be right back with it." As he stood he heard Stillwater holler something about a twenty minute break, ending with a threat to keep them all there past midnight if the rehearsal didn't get better.

Anna's backpack was sitting neatly on a chair in the small dressing room she had been assigned. Frank reached in and pulled out the three-ring binder that held Anna's script and blocking notes. As the binder came free, the edge caught the looped handle at the top of the bag, tipping the bag upside-down and dumping the contents all over the floor. Frank sighed and gingerly knelt down to pick everything up, thanking G-d that the skinny jeans he had put on that morning had enough spandex in them to allow him to reach the floor while still able to breathe. He absently organized the papers, his eyes scanning the contents until he came across one that stopped him cold. It was a sheet of notes – in Anna's writing – on Blake's poetry, including some on the poem Joe had found wrapped around the vase of lilies. Frank was beginning to wonder if they were being played. _No,_ he thought. _She was really scared by that note. There's something else going on here. Something I'm missing. What is it? _He growled in frustration, picked up the binder, and headed back to the stage, adamant that tonight he and Anna Gold would be having a conversation.

By the time he returned, everyone was gone. Apparently Stillwater had finished ranting at the cast, and they had decamped as quickly as possible. Frank sighed. _Great. Well, I guess I'll go eavesdrop on the crew._ He retraced his steps and turned towards the green room, figuring there would be someone whose conversation he could overhear. Most of the cast and crew had grown so accustomed to his presence, they barely noticed him, which worked to his advantage.

There were murmured voices in the room, and Frank stopped at the door to listen before entering. "Jason, no. Stop it." Anna's voice. "I told you, I'm not interested. I _have_ a boyfriend."

"But he's not here, is he?" Frank's eyes narrowed. The response came from Jason Peters, the leading man Joe had warned him about. "And as long as he's gone, we might as well have some fun, right?"

"No." Frank could hear the slight tremor in Anna's voice. "Back off."

"Without one kiss? Now that wouldn't be fair, would it? I mean, how would you know what you're missing?" The actor's voice was smooth and self-assured.

Frank threw the door open. "Ms. Gold? Oh, there you are. I found your script." It was an effort to keep his voice in John's slightly higher register. Peters had Anna backed into a corner of the room, his arms on either side of her, keeping her from leaving. A fierce anger flared up in Frank's chest.

"Look, _Johnny_, your employer and I are having a private moment, so buzz off," Peters snarled without looking at him.

Frank crossed the room. "I think you should be the one to buzz off," he said. "I clearly heard Ms. Gold tell you to leave her alone."

The actor turned to Frank, flexing his muscles. "And what do you plan to do about that, you little fag?" He reached out a hand to push Frank away, his expression turning to shock as Frank's hand circled his wrist and twisted his arm up behind his back.

"I plan on escorting you out." With Peters' arm still twisted behind his back, Frank marched him across the room and forced him out in the hallway, pushing him into Brian Jackson as the stage manager walked by with his face buried in a pile of papers, which flew everywhere. Jackson looked up from the floor, startled. Peters was furious.

"Don't you think I'll forget this, Franklin. No one touches me. No one. Do you hear?"

Frank shook his head. "I guess not, sir. Just like you didn't hear Ms. Gold tell you to leave her alone. Funny that." He saw Jackson's eyes widen, then Peters swore loudly and stormed off down the hall. Frank helped the stage manager up. "Can you tell Mr. Stillwater that Ms. Gold needs a minute?" Jackson nodded. "Thanks." He closed the door.

Anna was still standing in the corner, her eyes glazed over. She was shivering.

"I know this is a stupid question, but are you all right? He didn't hurt you?" Frank's voice dropped down to its normal range. She looked even younger than she had last night, even more vulnerable. More than anything, he wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to make her feel safe. "Joe warned me about him. I'm so sorry I wasn't here..."

"I'm fine," she whispered.

"You're not fine. Your teeth are chattering." Frank pulled his black turtleneck sweater over his head and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She gave him a crooked smile, her shivering slowing down. "Flashback. Some things take a long time to get over."

"I know."

She gave him a long look. "You do, don't you?" He looked back at her, understanding in his eyes. "Maybe you can tell me about it some time?" Her voice was uncertain. He nodded. She took a deep breath. "I need to get back."

"Are you all right?" She nodded once. "I'll be right behind you." He watched as she opened the door and walked into the hall, then picked up the binder from where it had fallen on the floor. A folded piece of paper fluttered out. With a cold feeling in his chest he opened it.

**My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;**

**Coral is far more red than her lips' red;**

**If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;**

**If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.**

**I have seen roses damasked, red and white,**

**But no such roses see I in her cheeks;**

**And in some perfumes is there more delight**

**Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.**

**I love to hear her speak, yet well I know**

**That music hath a far more pleasing sound;**

**I grant I never saw a goddess go;**

**My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.**

**And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare**

**As any she belied with false compare.'**

**_You are all this to me and more, my love._**

Frank crumpled the paper in his hand.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Joe sat in his office, going over the Patterson charts one last time, and found himself absently rubbing his forehead again. Even though it had been over a week since he had been released from the hospital, his head continued to ache off and on, usually when he had been reading or watching too much television, and right now, there was a slight buzzing sound in his ears, a sure sign he had been overdoing it. He reached for the medicine bottle in his top drawer, sighing when he didn't hear any pills rattling around in it. _Chet must have some_, he thought. _At least I hope he does._ As he got closer to the door, the buzzing sound got louder. Voices came from the reception area. _Well, at least it's not me_, he thought. He had just turned back to his desk when something caught his ear.

"He's on assignment right now." Chet's voice sounded uncertain. Joe stopped at the door to listen, curious as to who Chet was talking to, and wondering why he didn't just send whoever it was in to his office instead. Finally Chet spoke again. "I could let Joe know..."

"No." The answer was short and harsh, the voice layered with anger and pain. Kara's voice.

Joe sucked in a breath. Kara was here looking for Frank. That meant FBI work, and – case or not – Frank would want to know. He opened the door. "I can get a message to him if you need him."

Kara turned toward him, her eyes momentarily widening as they took in the bruising on his face. Then her shoulders straightened, her face slipped into a professional mask. "What happened to you?"

Joe's hand moved to the side of his head. "It's nothing. A junkie with a bat. I'm fine."

"Playing hero again?" The words held an edge of disdain.

"Doing my job," he shot back, anger rising in his chest. He opened his mouth wanting to snarl something cutting back at her but stopped himself, realizing the tone she was using was familiar. It reminded him of his first interactions with her, when neither one could stand being in the same room as the other, before they realized the antagonism masked the attraction they both felt. It was as if she was trying to erase the last seven or eight months, and the knowledge made him feel cold inside. _You deserve whatever attitude she's giving you, Hardy. Just remember that_.

"I didn't see anything about it in the police logs." The words were faintly critical.

Joe swallowed and worked on keeping his voice level. "Frank called in some favors. They kept our names out of it."

"So he's covering your security detail now?" Joe nodded. Kara's lips formed a hard line as she considered. "Fine," she finally said. "I have information for him. Come on." She turned and walked towards Frank's office. Once inside, she shut the door and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "It looks like our cases are connected."

This was not at all what Joe had expected. "Your money laundering ring and our stalker?"

"Travis traced a bunch of phone calls. Our suspect's called this particular local number at least once a day over the past month; nine or ten times a day within the last week." Her voice was clipped and her eyes looked like agates, cold and hard. "It's listed it as private, but when I called the number, the voice mail message indicated it belongs to Pierre Montvale's agency."

Joe whistled. "So that's why he was so nervous about having Anna in the play. If he's involved with dirty money... I'll let Frank know right away." He moved closer to Kara, watching with sadness as she blinked once then swept by him. His shoulders slumped. "Kara." She stopped and turned her head slightly, her eyes still focused on the door. "Thank you. I appreciate the information."

She walked out of the office without saying goodbye.


	10. Act 3, scene 2

Rehearsal hadn't gone well after the break. Anna's voice had been barely audible, and Peters missed most of his cues, too busy glaring at Frank to pay attention to what he was supposed to be doing. Stillwater finally exploded in an incoherent rage and sent everyone home, swearing and throwing his script to the floor as he stormed out. Anna had shown no outward sign of emotion but flinched when Peters passed her on his way out.

Once home, Anna had become a statue, pale and withdrawn. Frank busied himself around the kitchen, watching her carefully as he worked. At dinner, she pushed food around her plate without eating. Frank was growing concerned about her total lack of emotion or expression since their talk at the theater. Part of him wished he had taken the opportunity to hit Peters. _Hard_, he thought._ Possibly in the nose. Or the jaw. It would be hard for him to talk with a broken jaw._

"So, what happened to _you_?" Frank started. Anna's voice was so soft, he had to lean forward to hear her. "You said you knew... What it was like..."

He nodded. "I do. A couple of years ago I was..." He paused, trying to figure out how to start. "Anna, how much do you know about me and Joe?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Not much." Her voice was guarded. "After Pierre told me about Joe, I did some research. I found some newspaper articles online. Work you did with your father, cases you've solved. Things like that."

"There's a lot you won't find." He let out a breath. "Like the fact Joe and I assist the local FBI office on occasion."

Anna's mouth dropped open. "Joe said his girlfriend was an agent."

"Kara and I have been working together off and on since I was in college." Frank pulled off his glasses and let the hair fall over his eyes. He took a deep breath. "A couple of years ago, I went undercover for her and was... captured." His voice wavered, and he struggled to keep it level. "I was held for nearly four months." Anna gasped, but he couldn't look at her; his eyes were focused on the past. "Joe and I got kidnapped a couple times when we were younger, but this was... different. More frightening, more... I don't know..." He swallowed, trying to maintain his composure. "It took a long time before I could trust anyone again. Even Joe. That frightened me even more." His eyes closed involuntarily and felt her take his hand. "I still have nightmares about it sometimes. So yes, I know." He opened his eyes and raised them to hers. "I'm sorry that idiot made you relive what happened to you, and even more sorry that you have to go through this as well."

She squeezed his hand, then released it. "You found another note, didn't you?" Her voice was stronger, calmer, than he expected. He took the paper from his back pocket and handed it to her. She unfolded it, her jaw tightening as she read the words. "Shakespeare," she said.

"Are you sure?" Frank rose and moved around the table to stand behind her chair. "I haven't had a chance to check it yet."

Anna nodded. "Sonnet 130, and as long as we're sharing, there's something I'd like to tell you." Her cheeks reddened. "I know you saw the book, and I'd like to explain. Wait here a sec, okay?" She pushed her chair back and padded down the hall to her room. Within seconds she was back, a small, plastic card in her outstretched hand.

"What's that?" Frank asked, putting his hand out.

"My college ID."

Frank's eyes narrowed, and he dropped his gaze to card. The picture was definitely Anna, but Anna as she had been dressed the previous night – no makeup, glasses, braids. The ID was valid for the current semester. "Anna _Goldstein_?"

She held out her hand and looked at the picture critically once he returned it. "After the assault I wanted to get as far away from L.A. as possible. I came back east and started college under my real name. Just a couple classes at a time. I discovered I like being a student – a normal person." She shrugged. "Unfortunately, I ran out of money and had to go back to work. I took a few semesters off to save and started back the first chance I got. Luckily, Mercy has an online component so I can take classes no matter where I am."

"Is that what the voices were last night?"

Anna nodded. "Several of us try to get together online once a week to discuss what we're reading."

"And no one's recognized you?" Skepticism dripped from the words.

A smile quirked on her lips. "I call it the 'Clark Kent' effect. Now you see me," she picked Frank's glasses up from the table, put them on, and gestured to her face with spread fingers, "now you don't."

Frank nodded. He'd had similar experiences with his disguises while undercover. "Someone must know Anna Gold and Anna Goldstein are the same person."

"They're choosing poems I'd recognize," she agreed, her smile fading. She put the glasses back on the table and looked up at him again.

"Does Pierre know?"

It was her turn to nod. "The stage name was actually his idea. He thought a Jewish sounding name would limit the roles I was offered. He was my guardian until I turned eighteen."

Frank's head jerked up. "Your guardian? Wait, what did you mean you ran out of money?"

Anna shrugged. "Pierre said the stock market crashed. All I know is I was suddenly broke. I've been taking any role I can get to build up my bank account again."

Frank spread his hands. "Then how do you afford this place? The rent here must be enormous."

"I don't," she answered. Frank blinked, not understanding. "It's Pierre's. I stay here whenever I'm in town. It's the closest thing I have to my own home."

They both jumped as the phone rang. Frank grabbed the handset from the base on the wall and answered the call in John's voice. "Gold residence. May I help you?... Oh, hi, Brian... You're kidding. Is he all right?" Frank paused, listening. "What about rehearsals?... Okay, I'll tell her."

She walked over and put a hand on his arm. "What's happened?"

"Rehearsal's canceled tomorrow morning." His brow furrowed. "Jason Peters was in a motorcycle accident."

Anna's mouth dropped open. She fell back a few steps, hand over her heart. "Is he...?"

"He's alive." Frank's tone was grim. "But he's got a fractured collarbone and a broken leg. Stillwater's replacing him with Bobby Chapman. He's going to work with Bobby in the morning and have the rest of the cast do a read-through with him in the afternoon." He looked at Anna, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay?"

She sighed. "Is it awful to say I'm relieved?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "You and probably every other woman involved in the production." He pressed his lips together. "I need to tell Joe we lost a stalker suspect." He punched in the number and waited. "Joe? It's me. Peters is off the list." A pause. "No, I didn't hit him. I thought about it, though... Motorcycle accident, why?... _What? When?_" He listened for a few moments. "Really? There's got to be a connection." He briefed his brother on Anna's finances. "You should pay Mr. Montvale a visit and see what information you can get out of him... "

Anna waved her hands to get his attention. "He's out of town for a couple of days." She glanced at the wall calendar. "Should be back the day after tomorrow."

"Did you get that? Okay. And Joe? Be careful when you talk to him." He held the phone away from his ear. "Yes, I'm aware I say that a lot. Get used to it, little brother. It's not going to change." He put the phone back on the base and turned back to Anna, who was watching him with wide eyes. "He hung up on me."

"What happened? Why does Joe need to talk to Pierre?"

Frank paused a moment before replying. "There's a possibility he's involved in a money laundering case."

"And you think it's with my money?" Frank simply looked at her, unsure of what to say. Anna let out a long breath. "Well, and I thought this morning was strange. Is this what your life is like all the time?"

He shrugged. "Not all the time, but..."

"Really? _Okay_." She swallowed, then gave him a crooked smile. "I think I need ice cream. Care to join me?"

Relieved, Frank returned the smile. "Let me make a quick call." He pulled out his cell phone and punched in some numbers. "Biff? It's Frank. Are you actually home right now? Any chance you're free tomorrow after work? It's for a case... Great. Here's the address." He waited while Biff wrote down the information. "Thanks. See you then."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Biff was already in the lobby when Frank got there. Today's rehearsal had gone surprisingly well, the entire cast apparently pleased with the change of leading man, and Frank was running a few minutes late. "Thanks for coming on such short notice," he said, amusement showing on his face as he watched his friend surreptitiously eyeing the changes in his appearance. "Do you like the look?"

Biff tilted his head to the side. "It's, um... different. Can you actually move in those pants? They look like they've been painted on your legs. I mean, really, Frank."

"John," Frank corrected, looking to make sure the doorman wasn't listening. "Here you need to call me John."

"John, then," Biff amended. "And the overall effect is... interesting. You certainly don't look like you. Which is the point, I suppose." He looked Frank up and down as they walked down the hallway. "Who picked the plaid scarf?"

"Marisol. She was very specific about wearing it with this shirt." Biff nodded, still examining his friend's appearance. "Okay," Frank continued in a low voice, "what I need is a quick tutorial on investment banking."

"Wait, did you just say _you_ need a tutorial on something?" Biff pretended to search his pockets. "Do you have any paper? I need to write this down somewhere. This is a red-letter day."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Very funny." One of the building's other tenants walked by, waving as she passed. He leaned in closer to Biff. "I need to learn how people use banks to launder money."

Biff raised his eyebrows. "Planning on changing careers? Somehow I never pegged you for a criminal mastermind. Not that you wouldn't be good at it..."

"It's got to do with the case we're on."

"I called Chet. He said something about protecting a movie star." He sighed theatrically. "You two get all the luck. Not sure I would have chosen this particular disguise, though. You'd be more believable as her boyfriend if you were all rugged and handsome."

"You don't read the gossip columns much, do you? _Joe's _her boyfriend. I'm the lackey."

"Really?" Biff lowered his voice to a whisper, his eyes registering disbelief. "And Kara's okay with this?"

"She knows." Frank was a little surprised Joe hadn't said anything to Biff but shrugged it off. Joe was entitled to his privacy. "Speaking of Joe, when we set this up, I thought he and Anna were going out tonight, but their plans got changed. They invited some of the cast and crew over for Chinese take-out."

"So? We head to your room, and you get your tutorial." Biff shrugged his shoulders. "You have a room, right?"

"Yeah, about that..." The light glinted off Frank's glasses. "In the interest of full disclosure, they all think I'm – well, John is – gay. The rumor going around is it was the only reason Anna agreed to a male personal assistant."

Frank had to give Biff credit. Anyone who didn't know the tall man well wouldn't have noticed the slight faltering of his stride or the sudden tightness around his eyes and jawline. It was no wonder Biff had moved up the corporate ladder as quickly as he did; his poker face was nearly impossible to read. "Do they?" he asked in an even tone.

Frank resettled the black frames on his nose. "Anna's had issues with stalkers and finds gay men non-threatening."

"You? Non-threatening? _Right._" Biff snorted. "Just shows how much they know," he muttered.

"The point is when her guests see you, they may jump to conclusions. If you're not okay with the assumption, we can do this another time, but honestly, I really need the assistance."

"I don't have to kiss you, do I?"

"I'm all for verisimilitude," Frank responded, his voice taking on a dry note, "and I'm flattered, but no. _Please_."

Biff shrugged. "Well, then, _hon_, let's go." He slipped an arm around Frank's shoulders.

"John and I share the trait of not being overly demonstrative," he said. "Public displays of affection really aren't our thing."

Biff grinned. "Are you kidding? I get to tutor the man who knows everything _and_ possibly make him blush? This just keeps getting better."

"Give it your best shot, buddy. Just remember who I grew up with," Frank shot back, shrugging out from under his arm. Biff followed Frank into the apartment, grabbing his hand as they entered, then stiffening ever-so-slightly as his eyes fell on Joe sitting at the dining room table. The corners of Frank's mouth quirked up in amusement as he disengaged his hand. "Ms. Gold, this is my friend, Allen." He introduced the others at the table, explaining briefly what role each played in the production.

Anna welcomed Biff and offered him some dinner. When he politely refused, she smiled and went back to her conversation with Stillwater. Joe leaned back in his chair, a wicked grin on his face. "Nice to meet you, Allen." He smirked and indicated Frank with his chin. "You've got yourself a live one here. Are you sure you can keep him... happy?"

Biff raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, if he's too much for me, perhaps _you'll_ be available later. Gentlemen _do _prefer blonds, after all." Frank watched as a slow blush crept over Joe's face and lowered his head, trying not to laugh. Biff winked, then turned to Frank, "Shall we?"

As they walked down the hall, Frank felt eyes on him. He pretended to stumble and fell to his knees. Biff turned, surprised. "I'm all right," Frank said, his voice a little louder than necessary. "Help me up?" He put his hands out so Biff could pull him to his feet, turning his head to the left as he rose. Most of the diners were involved in eating or talking, but from the corner of his eye, Frank could see Brian Jackson and Stephen Stillwater – at opposite ends of the table – watching him. He leaned into Biff's shoulder. "Come on," he whispered, "the sooner we get this case figured out the better."


	11. Act 3, scene 3

From his seat at Montvale's desk, Joe could hear the man's footsteps as he walked through the empty reception area. His fingers drummed lightly on the desk as he anticipated the agent's reaction to finding him here. It didn't disappoint.

The light switched on, and Montvale's voice rang out, "What? How?" As usual, the agent was impeccably and expensively dressed. The hand pressed to his heart was adorned with a ring featuring a large, square-cut diamond. _Must be at least two carats, _Joe thought. _Impressive._ As the man's breathing slowed, his haughty attitude returned in full force. He drew himself up to his full height, his eyes flashing. "Mr. Hardy, I demand to know what you are doing in my office."

"It seemed like a good place to wait for you," he said, infusing his voice with a menacing tone. "And here you are. Looks like it was a good idea."

"But the door was locked!" Outrage filled the man's voice. "That's breaking and entering!"

Joe nodded once, his face taking on a harder expression. "You've got the terminology down. You must watch those cop shows on TV."

Montvale slammed his briefcase on the desk and started rifling through the main compartment. "You have no right to be here. I'm calling the police!"

"Go right ahead. While we're waiting, we can talk." Joe put a hand in his shirt pocket. "And I can return one of your belongings." He pulled out the silk handkerchief, waving it in front of the man's face. "Anna says this is yours." The fabric square fluttered onto the desk.

Montvale grabbed the piece of silk with one hand as the other emerged from the leather case clutching a cell phone. "I don't know what game you're playing here, Mr. Hardy, but you're not above the law..."

"I'm protecting Anna. Just like you hired me to do." He paused, watching Montvale fumble with the phone's keypad. "I can give you the number for the local precinct, but 9-1-1 will get the police here faster," he said, his voice like ice. "I'm sure they'll be very interested in where and how I found that handkerchief." He leaned towards the older man. "And even more interested in the embezzling."

The phone fell to the floor. "The what?" Montvale stuttered.

"The embezzling." Joe stood, putting both palms flat on the desk. "I mean, look at you – cashmere sweater, diamond the size of a golf ball, hand-made shoes. And your star client's broke... Can't _imagine_ how that happened." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Unless it's _her_ money you've invested in Stillwater's play, and you simply forgot to tell her about it." He watched as Montvale's face paled to a sickly white. "And now I hear a rumor you're involved in a money-laundering operation." He made a 'tsk' sound several times. "I'm sure the police will be _very_ interested in _that_ piece of information." He paused, letting his blue eyes bore into Montvale's. "Or the FBI."

Montvale sank into one of the chairs opposite the desk. "How did you...?" He squeaked, his French accent gone. _Looks like Frank was right. Again._ The man leaned over, putting his head in his hands. "Please. Don't," he whispered. "No one can know. He'll hurt Anna."

Joe's head shot up. "Who will?"

"I tried to protect her. I tried to convince her not to take the role." Tears were forming in the older man's eyes. "I sent the notes hoping they would scare her away..."

"_You _sent them? _All_ of them?" Joe's hands started shaking, his anger spilling over. "Did you send the lilies, too?"

Montvale shook his head, confused. "Lilies? I wouldn't send lilies. Anna's allergic to them." He let out a shaky breath, trying to bring himself back under control. "I thought the notes would convince her to leave, to go back to California. When she wouldn't go, I hired you to protect her, to keep her safe."

Joe eyes flashed as his hands balled into fists. "Safe from who? Who's threatening her?"

"Not her. Me." Montvale's voice was a whisper.

"I don't give a shit about you. You put her in this position to save your own sorry ass." Joe grabbed the agent's shoulders and shook him hard. "Damn it, Montvale. _Who? _If you really care about her, give me a name."

Montvale crumpled in the chair. "Milton," he whispered.

The agent jumped as Joe's hands slammed on the desk in front of him. "Jackson? Stillwater's backer?" Montvale nodded, his eyes closed and his head bent. "What's he got on you?" The man mumbled something into his chest. "Louder."

"Gambling debts. Big ones. I needed to hide them from my wife, my family." Montvale opened his eyes. Joe could see tears forming in them. "Anna is my only big name client. I borrowed some money from her to pay them off..."

"You mean you stole from her."

"I was going to pay her back," he protested. Joe snorted. "The stock market crashed..."

Joe loomed over the man. "It's gone back up," he said, veins pulsing in his neck. "What's stopped you since then?"

Montvale swallowed and wiped his eyes. "Milton. He couldn't get enough money for this play. He... strongly suggested... I should invest in it." He cowered in his seat. "Stephen's plays do well critically, but not at the box office. Milt's usual crowd is tired of losing money on them." He took a shaky breath. "He said if I didn't give him the money, he'd send someone after Anna. Then he'd tell my wife what I'd done." He choked. "I had no choice."

"There's always a choice," Joe said, ice in his voice. He stood and crossed his arms over his chest. "And the one you have to make right now is _how_ you're going to help the FBI put Jackson behind bars."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Frank?" Anna's voice came from the living room. "Can I ask a huge favor?"

"Sure. Give me a sec." Frank gathered up the notes he had made during his meeting with Biff the night before. While he had learned quite a bit about the process of laundering money through banks and off-shore businesses, he wasn't sure how or if it applied to this case. He took a last drink of his coffee and went to see what Anna needed. "So, what can I..." His mouth dropped open, and he took a step back. "Uh..."

Anna stood in the middle of the room. One hand rested on a bar stool from the kitchen counter, the other gripped several sheets of paper. Her eyes held a pleading expression. "I'm having trouble with the new blocking in this one scene." She handed Frank the papers. "Would you mind running the lines with me? I really want to have it down for tomorrow."

Frank's eyebrows arched. "You want me to run a scene with you? I don't... I mean..." He started backing out of the room.

She walked forward and grabbed his arm. "I need help. All you need to do is read the lines." She pushed him down on the stool and shoved the papers in his hand. "You keep saying you're a better actor than Joe. Now you can prove it." She touched his shoulder. "Frank, I _really_ need the help. _Please._"

He sighed and held up his hands in defeat. "Just don't expect too much," he said, scanning the pages. "There's no blocking."

She flipped a few pages, then pointed to a line near the bottom. "When you get here, stand up. Otherwise, all you need to do it sit and read. I'm the only one who moves in this one. Tell me when you're ready." Frank flipped through the pages again, then nodded. She beamed at him, and Frank felt his heart stutter. Then she reached over and pushed the glasses off his nose and over his forehead, sweeping the red fringe out of his face. "That's better."

The gesture surprised him, being both familiar and intimate, and his heart started beating faster. Anna started speaking, and he listened, mesmerized, as she recited her lines. Two or three times, she caught herself half-way through a motion, and rolled her eyes, her persona changing from Mary to her own. "Last time," she said. "Joe's going to be here soon." Frank had to suppress a sudden, irrational surge of jealousy. Once Joe's bruises had disappeared, he and Anna had gone back to the busy social life of a Hollywood starlet and her new beau. While Frank knew the pretense was necessary, he missed her company in the evenings. Having someone to talk to who knew who he was provided a nice change from his usual undercover assignments, and he found he enjoyed their conversations. He sighed and shook his head. _But that's all this is to her,_ he thought, _An assignment. Once this guy's caught, we all go back to our regularly scheduled lives._ Somehow, the thought made him feel empty inside. He shook his head, trying to dispel the feeling.

"'You've been so quiet today, Yeshua. Are you all right?'" Anna stood a few feet to his left – back in character – an expression of concern and worry on her face.

Frank blinked at her for a moment, then looked down at the script pages. "'I just need to be alone for a while.'"

"'They're all worried about you. They sent me here to check on you.'" She moved a step closer. "'Look at me.'" He lifted his head and turned toward her, keeping his face as impassive as possible. "'You look so tired. What can I do?'"

"'Nothing.'" On paper the words looked stilted, but hearing her speak the lines brought them to life. He read his next words. "'Do whatever you want.'"

"'I want to tell them all to go away, to leave you alone.'" Frank shrugged. "'Yeshua, please, how can I help you? What do _you_ want? Tell me.'" She knelt in front of him, putting her hands on his knees, the ferocity in her voice surprising him.

Frank gently removed her hands and turned away, his legs warm and tingling where she had been touching him. "'Does it matter?'" He wrenched his attention back to the character he was playing, infusing his voice with bitterness. "'It's already been decided for me. Everything. My whole life.'" He let out a breath and turned away, keeping his eyes pointed at the script. "'Or what's left of it.'"

She rose and put a hand on his shoulder, making him acutely aware of her presence. His breathing quickened. "'It matters to me.'" She crossed in front of him, her right hand caressing the side of his face as she walked, and Frank felt goosebumps rise on his arms. "'More than you can know.'" Her fingertips brushed his cheeks, then she leaned forward and kissed him.

For a second, Frank froze, shock coursing though him, then his body took over, responding to her with an ardor that that made him dizzy. His arms circled her, pulling her closer to him, his breathing ragged, his lips parting hers to deepen the kiss.

_Bang, bang, bang_. "Anna, are you home?" Joe's voice came from the hallway.

Frank jumped back, his heart pounding, his mind racing. _Oh, my G-d. I kissed a client. With a history of..._ He could feel the blood draining from his face. "Anna... I didn't mean... I'm _so_ sorry." She stood looking at him, her eyes wide, then turned and ran from the room. Seconds later, Frank heard a door slam. _What have I done?_

Joe pounded on the door again. "Anna? You in there?" Moving on auto-pilot, Frank opened it, barely noticing as Joe brushed by him excitement radiating off him like visible electricity. "I ran into Stillwater in the lobby," Joe said, shoving a balled-up sweater in Frank's arms. He continued talking, gesturing with his hands, his face animated, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Then he stopped, a look of concern flashing across his face. With a jolt, Frank realized he hadn't heard a word Joe had said. "You okay, 'bro?"

Frank couldn't make his mind stop whirling. "I'm fine," he finally managed to say. _She's never going to trust me again._

"No, you're not." Joe's eyes bore into his. "You're white as a sheet, and your cheeks are flushed." Frank brushed Joe's hand aside as it moved towards his forehead. "Are you coming down with something? You look like you've got a fever."

"I'm_ fine_," Frank choked, trying desperately to focus on his brother. "You saw Stillwater?"

"Yeah," Joe started bouncing again. "There's a pre-opening party this weekend at Milt's place in the Hamptons. Which works out great for us."

Frank's eyes widened as he listened to Joe's story. "He admitted to writing the notes?"

Joe shook his head. "I'm not sure he did all of them. He was pretty clear about not having sent the lilies." He looked at Frank. "But he could have been lying. I'm guessing it was another scare tactic to get Anna to back out of the play." He shrugged. "In any case..."

Anna appeared in the room, wearing a deep red dress, her hair twisted into a knot at her neck. Her face looked calm, but Frank could see her eyes were guarded. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting" she said to Joe, pointedly avoiding Frank's gaze.

Joe's grin returned in full force, his blue eyes glowing. "You look great. I'm all set if you are." He turned back to Frank. "I'm going to hit Kara's office tomorrow. Get a plan in place." Then he held out his arm to Anna, who molded herself to his side. "Don't wait up, 'bro. I get the feeling it's going to be a late night."

Frank watched as the door closed behind them. _Idiot_, he thought. _I'm a world class idiot_. He looked down at the sweater, realized he was crushing it in his fist, and started shaking it out to remove the wrinkles. A piece of paper floated to the floor. Trepidation filled him as he knelt to retrieve it.

**'The red rose whispers of passion,/ ****And the white rose breathes of love;/ O, the red rose is a falcon,/ And the white rose is a dove./ But I send you a cream-white rosebud/ With a flush on its petal tips;/ For the love that is purest and sweetest/ ****Has a kiss of desire on the lips****.'**

He stood for a moment, staring at the note. Montvale had been out of town until today, and he hadn't seen the man at the theater in days. _There _are _two of them, _he thought, coldness filling his chest. _And I just screwed up my best chance of keeping her safe._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You must be feeling brave." Hearing the voice, Joe turned his head. Travis was coming up behind him, his arms loaded down with files. "You're not real high on her list of favorite people right now."

"Can you get me in to see her?"

Travis raised an eyebrow. "And why would I want to do that?"

Joe's jaw tightened as he bit back the smart-ass remark sitting on the tip of his tongue. He might not like Travis, but he needed the man to get in to see Kara. "I've got information on your case."

"Really?" Joe could hear the skepticism in the agent's voice. Travis regarded him for a moment, considering, then relaxed his shoulders. "Here." He pushed the pile of folders at Joe. "This'll at least get you in the door."

Joe nodded, took the files, and walked down the hall to Kara's office. When he got there, he took a deep breath before kicking it gently with his foot. "Come in." Kara was at the back of the room, her head bent over an open filing cabinet drawer. She didn't turn around.

"Just put those on the desk. Thanks, Travis."

"You're welcome."

Kara froze. "What are you doing here?" She lifted her head, still keeping her back to him.

"Do you have access to a catering outfit as a cover?" He stacked the files on her desk as he spoke.

"What?" The drawer closed slowly as she turned around.

"Jackson's having a party this weekend." Kara's face remained an impassive mask. "Montvale agreed to wear a wire, steer the conversation to money." He shrugged. "He told Jackson he'd take care of the food. No one will question a lot of food service people around. As soon as you hear the magic words, you rush in and get your guy."

Kara's eyes narrowed. "Why is Montvale doing this? What've you got on him?" Joe pressed his lips together and looked away. Kara sighed. "Why are you doing this?"

"Professional courtesy."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Fine. Give Travis the details – what you know about the house, who else will be there. I'll go alert the chain of command." She walked towards the door, rolling down her shirtsleeves, a clear sign of dismissal.

"Kara." She stopped, her hand reaching for the doorknob. "I'm sorry." He tried swallowing around the lump forming in his throat. "I never meant to hurt you."

She turned back to face him, her professional mask slipping. "But you did." Her voice was brittle.

He nodded in acknowledgment. "I know, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life. I just wanted you to know I didn't..." She lifted a hand to stop his words, then walked out the door. He watched her leave, then took a deep breath to steady himself and went to find Travis.


	12. Act 4, scene 1

"Okay, Frank, spill. Why the lunch invitation?" Biff grabbed a pickle from the bowl on the table. "Not that I mind getting out of the office now and then, especially when I'm not paying, but..."

Frank shifted in his seat, his left hand moving up to touch the gold hoop in ear. _If this thing doesn't come out soon, I'm going to be stuck with a hole in my ear. _ "I was wondering if you were around this weekend. Something's up, and I could use another pair of eyes."

"Around, yeah. Available, no." Biff took a bite of pickle. "I love these things. I could eat them all day long, garlic breath be damned." He chewed and swallowed. "Big deal client's coming into town Friday afternoon. I drew the short straw." He rolled his eyes. "I have to provide entertainment and be available twenty-four/seven. Something happen to Joe?"

"He's busy with a related case," Frank lowered his hand and moved it toward his coffee mug. "There's a party this weekend for the backers and the cast." He drank some of the steaming liquid. "Stillwater said I should come and grudgingly suggested I bring my 'boyfriend.'" He toasted Biff with the mug. "Since Joe might be occupied, I though another pair of eyes might be good."

"Sounds like 'John' has an admirer," Biff teased. "In that case, I'd just be in the way." He selected another pickle from the bowl. "Besides, you and Anna seem pretty tight." Frank flinched and looked away. "Did something happen?"

"Let's just say Anna's not real comfortable around me at the moment." Frank blew out a breath. "It's a long story."

Biff raised his eyebrows. "How about the short version?"

"I kissed her."

Biff's eyes grew wide. "Really? That doesn't sound like you at all." He considered for a moment. "Joe, sure, but not you."

Frank shook his head. "I know. I screwed up."

"Does Joe know?"

"She might have told him." He shrugged and looked down at the table. "She's not talking to me right now."

Biff tilted his head to the side, examining Frank's expression. "Wow. There's a look I haven't seen since high school." He straightened up. "Every time you had a fight with Callie you'd have that look on your face until you made up." He paused, a slow smile spreading over his face. "You like her."

Frank's jaw tightened. "She's a client. I'm concerned for her safety."

"Please. That might work with someone who doesn't know you; not with me." Biff leaned closer, his elbows on the table. "_You like her_. Why don't you just tell her?"

Frank flushed. "She wouldn't be interested in me. Especially not now."

Biff picked up another pickle. "Is it that she's not interested, or that you're afraid to tell her?"

"What?" Frank couldn't keep the anger from his voice.

"Hey, don't take it like that. It's just – and correct me if I'm wrong – your last relationship was with Callie." Frank shrugged and bent his head over the coffee mug. Biff shook his head, puzzled. "What happened with you two anyway? We all figured you would be the high school sweethearts who got married. Next thing I know, Joe calls and tells me Callie's dating some guy from Connecticut she met at school."

"We grew apart." Frank 's eyes grew distant. "Once school started we didn't see that much of each other. With the double major, I needed to take classes all year long so I could graduate on time." His gaze shifted to the coffee in the mug, and he stared into it as if he were expecting images to appear on the liquid's surface. "Gradually the phone calls grew less frequent, and when we did talk, the pauses were longer than the conversations. I think deep down she hoped I'd give up the investigating and was waiting to hear me say it. Eventually she stopped waiting." He paused. "She called after she started seeing Chad. I didn't know what to say, so I just wished her the best."

Biff cleared his throat. "Anna knows what you do. She still seems to like having you around."

"She's a client," Frank said dully.

"Someday she won't be," Biff said. "We're not in high school anymore. If you like her, you should tell her how you feel." Frank shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the table. "Wow. Here's something I never thought I'd see: Frank Hardy afraid. Yet another red-letter day."

Frank clenched his teeth. "I have to get back. Good luck with your client this weekend." He pushed his chair back and started to rise.

"Frank." Biff laid a hand on Frank's arm, stopping him. "That was out of line. I'm sorry." He let out a breath. "Call me if you get stuck. I'll see what I can do."

Frank left without looking back.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Travis leaned back in his chair, pushing several sheets of paper toward the center of the table. "You're not half bad at this, Hardy. I always assumed Frank just kept you around as muscle, but this is pretty good."

Joe raised an eyebrow at the agent. "Thanks. I think."

"You're sure about the layout of the house?"

"Positive." Joe grabbed a page featuring a crudely drawn map. "Montvale's been there a number of times. He's being very cooperative." He pointed to one section. "Jackson's office is here. If you wait here," he pointed to a large square in the center of the map, "your guys'll be in perfect position to grab him. You can't get anywhere else in the house without going through the living room."

"That's the living room?" The agent's voice reflected his disbelief. "You could fit my entire apartment in there." He shook his head. "I'm in the wrong business."

"Tell me about it," Joe said. He looked around the small conference room. "So, Kara's not in on this?"

"I was wondering when you'd get to that," Travis said, a small smile on his lips. "She's getting the props in order – trucks, uniforms, food from an actual caterer. You know."

Joe sighed. "Yeah, the details. The stuff she and Frank do so well." His left foot started bouncing under the table. "Of course, if it was him here, she'd be sitting right there." He indicated an empty seat.

Travis turned his head quickly from side to side, making sure they were alone. "Give her some time, Hardy. These last few weeks have been tough for her. It's like she's reliving Lynne's loss all over again." He paused, turning away for a moment. "You never got to meet her, did you?" Joe shook his head, his leg growing still. "As close as you and Frank are? They were closer. You know the expression 'Irish twins'?" Joe nodded. "They were in the same grade in school, took the same classes. The first time they were ever apart was when Kara came here to go college instead of staying in Boston." Travis picked up a pencil and started rolling it between his fingers. "They talked on the phone at least once a day, sometimes more. When Heather and I got married, Kara didn't bring a date, she brought Lynne." He sighed. "I'm her partner, and she didn't tell me Lynnie was sick until it was too late." He turned his eyes to Joe, the usual humorous rancor in them replaced by sorrow. "I know I haven't always been your biggest fan, but you've been good for her. Better than I would have thought."

Joe cocked his head to the side. "You're slipping. That almost sounded like a compliment."

Travis flashed a brief smile. "If she wasn't grieving so hard, she wouldn't be so mad at you. She knows what it's like to be in the middle of case. You lose track of everything. You just need to give her time."

"Do you really think so?" Joe worked hard at keeping the emotion out of his voice. He wasn't going to lose it in front of Travis.

"Yeah, I do." The agent smirked at the disbelief in Joe's eyes. "Hey, I'm being honest here..."

"You actually have that ability?" Kara's voice came from one of the doors, startling them both. She pulled up a chair and sat down next to Travis. "They need you upstairs to get fitted for your server's uniform. Black polyester. You'll love it."

Travis rolled his eyes. "Polyester? Do they have bell bottoms? Maybe we can disco our way through the assignment." He rose from his chair and struck a dance pose.

Joe snorted. "Don't quit your day job, Travis."

"You're just jealous that you don't get to wear one, Hardy." He pirouetted from the room, leaving a profound silence behind him.

Kara flipped through the papers on the the table. "These look good, a lot of detail. It will make this easier."

Joe nodded. "I'm glad. I know you've been trying to get this guy for a while." Silence. Kara's eyes stayed glued to the diagrams, her head moving in a slight nod. He waited for a response, then gave up. "I should go," he finally said. "I need to pack." He stood, pushed back his chair and paused a moment. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck."

"Joe?" Joe held his breath. _My name, _he thought, _Joe, not Hardy._ "Thank you." Kara's voice was soft as she spoke. She lifted her head from the map in her hand and looked at him. The hard, professional mask was gone. The look she gave wasn't open, but it wasn't closed off, either.

A tense knot in Joe's chest loosened slightly. "Any time. You know that." She nodded and turned her attention back to the diagrams. Joe left the room feeling lighter than he had in a long time. _It's a start,_ he thought, _and I'll take it._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Frank had to work hard at maintaining John's voice and mannerisms at Milt Jackson's mansion in the Hamptons. His nerves were still on edge from his discussion with Biff the previous day, and everything raised his hackles, especially the sleeping arrangements. Anna and Joe had a room together in the main house, while he had to share the pool house with Brian Jackson and most of Anna's luggage. Joe reassured him nothing would happen – "Hey, I'm sleeping on the floor. She's a client, 'bro. What do you take me for?" – which only made Frank angrier at everyone, himself included. He spent the evening listening to Brian's inane chatter about the play, making up plausible answers to the stage manager's questions about his 'relationship' with 'Allen,' and wondering why he had even agreed to attend the event. He spent most of the night awake, trying to talk himself into a calmer state of mind and failing miserably.

As he hovered near Anna at the party the next day, playing the efficient personal assistant, he could feel her eyes on him. He did his best not to look at her, not wanting to see the hurt and confusion he knew would be there. As she played the role of the happy lover wrapped in Joe's arms, he had to fight the irrational urge to spill something on his brother's shirt to separate them. Several methods of doing this wound through his mind, bringing a small smile to his lips.

"John?" Joe's voice in Frank's ear brought him back to the present.

"Yes, Mr. Hardy?" He reached up and adjusted his glasses.

"Have you seen Anna's shawl? She's a bit chilly." Joe leaned in and whispered, "Kara's here."

Frank's eyes scanned the room. Kara was nearby, a tray of hors d'oeuvres in her hands. He nodded imperceptibly. "I'm not sure which suitcase it was in, sir. If it's not in her room, it may be in mine. Would you like me to go look?"

Joe leaned in again. "Montvale and Jackson just left to 'talk', and I'd prefer Anna was out of the way." Frank followed Joe's eyes to the back of the room, catching a glimpse of the back of Montvale's head as the man exited the room. "It's okay, John, she said she'd go herself. I just thought I'd see if you knew where it was."

As Joe walked back to Anna, Frank moved toward Kara, scooped a cracker from her tray, and watched – mildly entertained – as her eyebrows headed to the ceiling once she recognized him. He bowed slightly to her and headed to one side of the room, where he could watch the action without having to interact with anyone. From the corner of his eye, he saw Anna touch Joe's cheek affectionately just before she left through one of the double doors, her arms crossing her chest to keep herself warm. Frank sighed and, turning away, walked right into Brian who was standing by one of the other sets of doors. "Sorry," he murmured.

"I hate these things," the stage manager said. "Too many people. I'm going for a walk. Want to come? You don't look like you're having any more fun than I am." He seemed positively jovial.

Frank shook his head. "I need to be here for Ms. Gold when she gets back."

Brian gave him an amused look. "Suit yourself. I'm out of here."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Retrieving the shawl was an excuse. Anna needed to leave the party, to have a few minutes respite from pretending to be someone else – Joe's girlfriend, Stillwater's star, anyone more confident and sure of herself than she felt at this exact moment. Frank's behavior over the past few days confused and frightened her. She had let him into her home, had told him her secret, had trusted him, and now... She carefully ran a finger under her eyes, trying not to ruin her makeup and let out a shaky breath.

"Hey, are you all right?" Anna turned to find Brian standing in the doorway of her room, one hand behind his back. "You look sad."

Anna forced a smile on her face. "I'm fine."

He looked at her and shook his head. "No, you're not. I can tell." From behind his back, he brought out a red rose and held it out. "'O my Luve's like a red, red rose/ That's newly sprung in June;/ O my Luve's like the melodie/ That's sweetly play'd in tune. /As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,/ So deep in luve am I:/ And I will luve thee still, my dear,/ Till a' the seas gang dry:'"

The smile relaxed, became more genuine. "Brian, that's so sweet. Thank you."

"Well, I know you like poetry, and _he _certainly won't recite it to you." The stage manager's expression darkened as he walked into the room.

Anna forced out a small laugh, brushing her dark hair off her shoulder. "Joe's not really a 'poetry and flowers' kind of guy."

"Not him. The other one." He walked into the room, a flash of anger showing on his face.

"The other one?" Anna swallowed, feeling a flush spread over her cheeks.

"I see how you look at him, Anna." Brian was next to her now, putting a hand on her arm. "You're falling in love with him."

"Brian, I don't know what you're talking about." She tried to pull her arm free, but his grip tightened, keeping her in place.

"I know what love looks like, Anna. I've loved you for years." He thrust the rose in her hand. He smiled. "I'm glad I found a flower you're not allergic to."

Fear send goosebumps down Anna's arms as the meaning of his words sunk in. "You sent the lilies... And the other poems."

He nodded. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't know about your allergy. I'll be more careful next time." His eyes seemed unnaturally bright. "I would never hurt you, Anna. I'm not like them."

"Them?" Anna stared at him, her eyes widening in realization. "Jason..."

"He was frightening you. I couldn't let that happen." His voice sounded calm, but there was an undercurrent of anger in it. "I fixed it so you wouldn't have to be on stage with him." His mouth formed a grimace. "And I made sure that playboy wouldn't be feeling so amorous for a while."

"Joe... The junkie..." Anna thought she was going to faint. "We saw you at the restaurant. You..."

He nodded. "He doesn't love you. All he wants is sex. He's in there right now, flirting with one of the waitresses. _I_ love you. All I want to do is protect you, keep you safe." Anna tried again to remove her arm from his grasp, her heart pounding so hard, she thought it would jump from her chest. "Now you're falling in love with the other one, and he can't love you back." He shook her once, hard. "He's _gay_, Anna. He'll never love you the way I do." His eyes glittered hungrily. "And once he's gone, you'll realize that."

Anna felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. "Gone?"

Brian smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, love. I've got it all planned out." With his free hand, he pulled a small, plastic bag from his pocket, extracted a syringe from it, removed the plastic cover with his mouth, and stuck the needle swiftly into her arm. As the plunger depressed, Anna tried to scream, but Brian moved his hand up from her arm to cover her mouth. She struggled to move, desperate to get away, to warn Frank, but the room started spinning. "This is for your own good, Anna. Now, no one will think you're involved. It will keep you safe." The rose slipped from her hand, and the world went away.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Joe poked Frank in the arm. "Isn't Anna back yet? She's been gone a long time looking for that shawl." He had been busy watching Kara and trying to make small talk with several of the other actors when he realized Anna hadn't yet returned.

Frank's head jerked up. "She's not back? I should go check our rooms."

Joe shook his head and leaned in closer to his brother. "No, Montvale and Jackson haven't come out yet. You stay here in case Kara needs back-up."

"Kara? Back-up? You must be kidding. Have you seen the number of people they have here?"

Joe grinned, jazzed about the seeming success of backroom operation. "Just keep an eye on her for me, okay? She'd be mad if _I_ interfered, but you could get away with it." Frank sighed, and Joe knew he'd won. "I knew I could count on you."

The door to his and Anna's room was open. A quick glance showed it was empty except for some red scraps on the floor. Tissue paper? Joe didn't stop to look. _She must have gone to Frank's room_, he thought. He huffed out a breath and headed for the pool house.

Something felt wrong as soon as he entered the room. Frank's luggage was still neatly stacked against the wall, his brother's books – _of course, Frank brought _books_ for a weekend in the Hamptons_ – were in a pile on the nightstand, and the bed was made. The only thing out of place was Frank's laptop, which sat in the middle of the bed instead of being in its case, a folded piece of paper on the cover. With a sinking feeling, he grabbed the paper.

**Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say,/ A madman's mercy bade thee run away.**

Joe swore as he pressed the computer's power button and entered his password. "Come on, come on," he muttered, wishing the machine would boot up faster. His fingers shook as he brought up an Internet browser and entered the words into the search box. He clicked on the first result and felt the blood drain from his face as he read the words on the monitor: _Act V, scene III_ _Romeo's lines before killing Paris at Juliet's tomb. _ "Oh, G-d! Frank!"

He sprinted back to the house and down the long corridor to vaulted living room at top speed, coming to a stop at the double doors just to Frank's right. Frank stood stock-still, his hands raised in front of him. Joe followed his brother's eyes and saw Brian in the middle of the room, a gun in his hand. Anger made the man's hand shake slightly, but the weapon stayed squarely pointed at Frank. "At first, I thought the other guy was the threat, but it's you. You're the one who's taken her from me." He stared at Frank, a look of disgust on his face. "And you're so tied up with your boyfriend, you don't even see it." The gun cocked. "Well, once you're gone she'll realize she's better off with a real man. Too bad you won't get to say goodbye."

"_No!_" Breath coming in hard gasps, Joe threw himself at his brother using a blocking technique from his high school football days. From the corner of his eye he saw Frank hit the wall and crumple to the floor, glasses askew and eyelids fluttering, stunned and dazed, but unhurt. Joe sighed in relief as he straightened to a standing position, ready to tackle Brian next. Then he heard the gun fire.

The first bullet hit him in the shoulder, knocking him back a few steps. His breath caught in his lungs as his brain registered the pain of the wound. A moment later a second bullet burned through his chest, forcing him back several more feet. He braced himself for a third bullet, but, thankfully, none came; Joe wasn't sure he'd survive a third hit at such close range. Everything around him blurred as waves of pain flooded his body, taking his breath away. He felt himself falling but couldn't muster enough strength to stop himself from going down. The room went dark as he hit the floor.


	13. Act 4, scene 2

The impact of hitting the wall knocked the breath from Frank's lungs. Spots of light floated in front of his eyes brightening the darkness threatening to engulf him; he managed to stay conscious only by force of will. Gasping for air, he watched in horror as Joe's body jerked once, then twice, blood staining his shirt where the bullets pierced his skin. Time froze as he lay there, unable to move, and watched his younger brother slowly – almost gracefully – fall to the floor. Agents stationed at the party as staff converged around Brian, guns out, as the man howled in despair.

"No! Those were meant for you! No matter. You'll never find her." Brian swung the gun wildly towards Frank as Travis tackled him from behind, employing a move similar to the one Joe had just used. Brian's head hit the floor with a loud crack, his eyes glazed over then closed. The gun fell out of his limp hand.

Travis pushed the weapon out of the way and handcuffed the unconscious man's hands behind his back with one hand while the other grabbed a microphone inside his shirt. He leaned over, yelling into his lapel, "Man down! I repeat, man down!"

Time started moving for Frank at a normal speed again. Still wheezing, he crawled across the floor to his brother only to find Kara already there applying pressure to Joe's wounds. A dispassionate part of his mind noted clinically – gratefully – that Joe was breathing. He could see Kara's lips moving and shook his head, at first not hearing, then not believing the words coming from her mouth.

"You have to go find her."

He shook his head. "One of your guys needs do it. I have to stay with Joe." He could hear the panic in his voice, spurred on by the frantic beating of his heart.

"Frank, you and Joe are the only ones she trusts. She doesn't know my team. If she's hiding she won't come out for one of us. If he's got her somewhere..." Her eyes bore into his, though her hands stayed steady. "I'll keep him alive. I promise." Frank couldn't make himself move. He couldn't leave Joe. Not now. "Frank!" Kara was yelling. "Montvale was terrified for her safety. If one of Jackson's guys gets her first, how safe do you think she'll be? I'll take care of Joe. You _need_ to find her."

It went against every fiber of his being to leave his brother injured like this, but Kara was right. Both he and Joe had promised Anna they would keep her safe, and he knew Joe would be furious with him if he let something happen to her. He also knew he would never be able to forgive himself if she had been hurt as well as Joe. Any guilt he felt now would be nothing compared to what he'd feel then. He had promised to protect her. He nodded once to Kara, his expression set, his eyes brimming. "Right," he said, his voice wavering. He reached out to touch his brother's face. "I'll be back as soon as I can, little brother. Hold on."

The agents stood aside as he rose to his feet. Frank pushed through the crowd of frightened and confused party guests, any pretense of being John now gone. The glasses were dropped to the floor, the red fringe of hair swept off his forehead, the retiring manner completely abandoned. Actors and other theater people drew back, whispering and commenting to each other, but he couldn't make out what they said. Joe's words – "Why do I feel like I'm being forced into this?" and "Brian Jackson... just a feeling." – echoed in his ears, the image of his brother lying still and pale, blood pooling on the floor around him, etched itself in his brain.

He stumbled from the room, then stopped and shook his head hard one time. "Focus, damn it. _Focus,_" he growled. Putting his hands to his forehead, he squeezed his eyes shut, sifting through his memory for details of the events prior to the shoot... – he couldn't finish the word – to Brian returning to the party, gun in hand. Anna had left the room. Why? "Shawl," he murmured. "Her room. He must have caught her there." He turned down the corridor to the guest rooms.

Once at the room, Frank stopped in the doorway, surveying the area. He had been there only briefly the day before, bringing in the pieces of Anna's luggage deemed necessary before carrying the remaining suitcases to his room in the pool house. As far as he could tell nothing was out of place. Suitcases had been opened and closed, but not moved too far from where he had originally placed them. He walked to the top suitcase and opened it. Anna's shawl sat on top of the folded clothes. He turned his gaze to the floor, thinking. A splash of red on the floor caught his attention, and he felt his heart stop. _Blood?_ He moved closer, eyes trained on the patch of color, relief flooding through him as he realized what he saw were flower petals. _Roses? _he wondered. He knelt down, scooped them into his hand, and smelled their faint fragrance, confirming his assessment.

A memory pricked in Frank's mind. The Blake poem. Because of the flowers in Anna's apartment, they had focused on the lines about lilies, but there had been something about roses in the poem as well. He closed his eyes, trying to visualize the other two poems in his head. The sonnet had talked about roses in a woman's cheeks, and the last poem had specifically spoken of roses representing different types of love. Frank's eyes flew open. He ran to the window, scanning the extensive grounds until he found what he was seeking. A greenhouse. He started running.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sharp pressure clamped down on Joe's shoulder and chest, reaching through the darkness enveloping him, making him gasp for breath. Faint words became discernible in his ear. "Damn it, Hardy. Don't even think about bleeding out on me." The sound of cloth being torn broke through the haze of pain blanketing his body. "Where's that ambulance?"

Cotton threads landed on Joe's nose, and, as he flinched to stop himself from sneezing, the pain twisted down his left side like a knife cutting through his flesh. His eyes cracked open, and he struggled to focus through the dark curtain hanging over his face. As it brushed his cheek, he realized it wasn't solid; it was individual strands of something – hair – hanging only inches from his face. His nostrils filled with a familiar floral scent. "Kara," he breathed. His head was spinning, and waves of pain crashed over him, trying to pull him back down into the darkness.

Kara's face turned towards him when she heard his voice. "Joe? Thank G-d."

Through barely focused eyes Joe could see blood smeared on Kara's forehead. _Not hers, _he thought. _Please, not hers._ "Are... you... hurt?" Speaking took a great deal of effort. He could take only shallow breaths; each time he breathed in, it felt as if someone had stuck a twenty-pound weight on his chest while twisting a burning poker through it. He tried to lift a hand to wipe the blood from her face but couldn't summon the energy. The slight movement exhausted him, and he felt his eyes starting to close again. The blackness was calling him, offering him a place to rest. He wanted to sink down into it and make the pain go away.

"No." A sharp slap stung his cheek, startling him and making his eyelids spring back up. "You stay with me. Keep those eyes open." Her voice sounded wrong – tinny, too far away.

"Yes... ma'am." He tried to look past her for Frank but couldn't make his eyes focus that far. He would have thought Frank would be yelling at him already, then his breath hitched as he realized the one possible reason why he wasn't. _No. _He tried filling his lungs again. "Kara... Frank... okay?" As hard as it was to talk, he had to know. He struggled to maintain his focus.

"He's okay. You got him out of the way. He's looking for Anna."

"Good." Relieved, Joe half-nodded, moving his eyes back up to her face.

Kara grimaced, worry creasing her forehead. "You need to stop playing hero like that. Travis had a clear shot."

Joe felt a smile trying to form. _If... can scold... she's okay_, he thought._ Don't know... what I'd do if... No. Can't... think that._ He cleared his throat, the action making his chest hurt even more. "Couldn't... let him... hurt Frank... Had to... to get," he stopped, working desperately to get the words out, "his... attention." There was other activity going on around them, but Joe didn't have enough energy to ask about it.

Kara snorted. "You certainly did that. Now just lie still and keep looking at me. The ambulance is on its way."

Joe could hear Kara's instructions, but now that he knew she and Frank were all right the darkness started pressing down on him again. While it dulled the pain, he knew there was one more thing he had to get out. It was difficult; he could almost hear it calling to him, telling him if he just gave in, the pain would stop. _Less pain... would be good_. His eyes started to close again. He could feel Kara's breath on his cheek as she continued applying pressure to chest and shoulder, her eyes on the blood-soaked cloths.

"Joe, stay with me," she commanded.

Joe blinked, forcing open his recalcitrant eyelids, and – with a monumental effort – managed to lift his head slightly. He raised his right hand up to her face. "Trying... Hurts." He took another shallow breath. "Kara." For a moment his voice sounded stronger. Her gaze flickered from his wounds to his face. His blue eyes locked onto her brown ones and softened, the pain momentarily disappearing. "I'm... an idiot... So... sorry." He smiled faintly. "Love... you." He stroked her cheek once with his thumb then his hand dropped to his chest. All expression drained from his face, and his head fell back against the floor, eyes closed.

Tears spilled from Kara's eyes onto Joe's shirt. "No," she said, her voice fierce and angry. "_No._ You can't die. Not now. I can't lose you, too." She lifted her head. "Where the hell is that ambulance?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The greenhouse was one of the old-fashioned kinds – actually made of glass and steel, rather than polycarbonate and aluminum. The door was locked; Frank channeled some of his frustration and anger into kicking out enough glass to access the inside door handle. He scanned the interior of the darkened room. It was warm, probably around the mid- to high-seventies. Several deep troughs sat against the glass walls, each holding two or three rose bushes. Frank walked over the packed dirt to one container. The roses in it matched the petals he had found on the floor of Anna's room. He examined the floor in hopes of finding any indication someone had been there recently – footprints or drag marks – but was stymied by a lack of light coming through the whitewashed walls. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he noticed a door at the back of the room which sported a large yellow sign labeled 'Danger: Pesticides' in English and Spanish. A padlock hung loose on a metal loop, its shackle not hooked into the lock's case. In three steps, Frank was at the door, the lock thrown on the floor. He inhaled sharply at what he saw inside.

Anna lay on the floor on a blanket, her eyes closed, skin pale. For one brief moment, he feared she was dead, then he saw the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He fell to his knees, dizzy with relief. _Thank G-d, _he thought. He crept closer, heard a crack, and felt something sharp cut through his pants and dig into his right knee. The plastic end of a syringe.

"Anna, can you hear me?" He checked her pulse and found it erratic and faint. Her breathing was shallow – consistent with having been drugged – but steady. He lightly slapped her cheeks, hoping to see her open her eyes. No response. He picked up the broken tube, closing it in his hand, then reached out to Anna.

Gently, he gathered her in his arms, cradled her against his chest, and rose, doing his best not to jostle or drop her. Once standing, his eyes were caught by images on the walls around him – pictures from teen magazines of a younger Anna on the sets of her movies, photos taken from a cell phone of Anna around New York and at rehearsal, and finally, the missing mock-up of her Mary Magdalene costume from the play. He choked, swallowing back the bile that had risen in his throat. _That sick bastard_, he thought. _ If he's touched her, I'll kill him myself. _The rest of his thought was cut off as the sound of sirens blared nearby. He turned back to the main house, holding Anna to him as if he never intended to let her go.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The hospital waiting room felt like purgatory. Frank had no idea how long he had been there. Time had stopped moving properly the moment the ambulance door had shut on Joe and Anna. The drive to the hospital went by in an instant, whereas every second waiting for an update on Joe's condition felt like several hours. He was only marginally aware of Kara's silent presence. She alternately stood at the window, staring blankly at the parking lot, or sat perched on the edge of a chair, hands wrapped around her waist, rocking back and forth. She hadn't spoken since a nurse had offered to bring her a pair of scrubs to replace her torn and bloodied shirt; the poor man had left with her curse words still ringing in the room.

Chet's hand on his shoulder made him look up, his eyes asking the question he couldn't voice. "Travis called," Chet said. "Tony's on his way. I got Phil's voice mail." He paused. "Marisol's calling the cruise line. She's going to give them my cell number then be here as soon as she gets off the phone." He looked around the room. "I'm surprised Biff didn't beat me here. He was in the car when I got him."

Frank blanched. His parents. What would he say when they called back? How could he tell them that Joe was hurt, and it was his fault? The train of thought was stopped by Biff's arrival.

Their friend walked in looking pale and worried. "Frank, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice sounding strained. "I should have been there. I could have gotten someone else..."

Frank forced himself to speak for the first time in... how long was it? "It wouldn't have made any difference. It wasn't your fault," he rasped, his throat dry. He closed his eyes. "This one's on me. He_ told_ me to watch out for Brian. I just didn't think..."

"Frank," Chet's voice rang out across the waiting room where he stood, his hands on Kara's shoulders. "Stop it. It's not your fault, either."

"Right." Frank clenched his teeth together and took a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. Finally, he nodded at Chet. "Right." He just wished he believed it.

Marisol arrived a few moments later. She hugged Frank before going to Chet and kissing him. "The cruise line is contacting the ship. When they get your parents, they're going to call me. Is there any news yet?"

From the doorway, they heard the noise of a throat clearing. "Mr. Hardy? I'm Doctor Levin, one of the surgical residents here." Frank looked at the young, dark-skinned man in the white coat and felt his knees go weak. It hadn't been long enough for the surgery to be completed.

The doctor saw the look on Frank's face and hurried to reassure him. "Your brother's still in surgery. The bullets are out. Now they're working on repairing the damage. Dr. Mueller is leading the team working on him. She's one of our best." He took a breath. "Mr. Hardy, your brother's lost a lot of blood." From the corner of his eye, Frank saw Marisol leave Chet's side and move toward Kara. "We had a multi-car accident here earlier today that used up some of our blood supplies. Are you a match for your brother?"

Frank shook his head, feeling as if his air supply had just been cut off. "No," he choked out.

Biff walked towards the doctor, rolling up his sleeve as he spoke. "Type O. Universal donor. Take whatever you need."

The doctor smiled crookedly. "We usually only take a pint per person, Mr...?"

"Hooper. Take two. You can put the plasma back." As the doctor shook his head, he continued. "Look, Doc, I'm not going anywhere. Any problems come up? I'm already at the hospital."

Chet walked forward, his sleeve rolled up as well. "You can take a pint from each of us. I'm O as well." He poked Biff gently in the ribs. "I already have the two of them to look after. I don't need to add you to the list. I'm busy enough as it is."

"That will help." The doctor handed the men over to one of the nurses, then turned back to Frank. "Someone from Dr. Mueller's team will send word as soon as they know anything definite."

"Dr. Levin, is there any word on the woman who came in with my brother? Anna Gold?" Frank held his breath as the man checked his tablet computer.

"They've finished running her tox screens. He gave her a fairly strong sedative. We think she'll be fine. We're waiting for her to come to so we can check her out."

"Can I see her?"

The doctor glanced at the screen again. "She's in room 530. There's an agent stationed at her door. You're on the allowed visitor list." His pager went off. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hardy, I'm needed with a patient."

Frank swallowed. "Thank you for the information. All of it." He turned to look at Kara, who had stood at the window again, her back towards him.

"You go, Frank," Marisol said. She indicated Kara with a gesture that said 'I'll keep an eye on her.' "Chet said Tony was on his way," she continued. "I can wait here for him." Her face was calm. "We'll find you if we need to."

Frank nodded. "If my parents call..."

"I'll ask one of the nurses to get you," she said. "I promise."

"Thank you." He let out a deep breath and left the room.


	14. Act 4, scene 3

Frank had no idea how long he sat by Anna's bed, one hand resting on her arm, just watching her breathe. Nurses came by several times, each one following the same routine – they checked her pulse, verified her heart monitor was still connected properly, typed notes on her condition on the screen of a tablet computer.

The third time it happened, the nurse – a motherly-looking blonde woman wearing bright purple scrubs – scowled gently at him. "You need to get some rest."

"Can't." His jaw clenched as he spoke. Monosyllables were the only things he trusted himself to speak without completely losing his composure.

"They all say that." She clasped the computer to her chest. "You won't do her any good if you're exhausted, and, anyway, she's sleeping now." Frank's head jerked up. "Whatever she was given is pretty much out of her system at this point. When she's ready, she'll wake up."

Frank swallowed. His mouth was dry. "Okay. Thanks."

The nurse rolled her eyes. "That was a hint that you should get some sleep, too." She sighed. "You're not going to, though, are you?"

"Can't," he repeated. "Not yet."

The door opened a crack, and the agent stationed in the hall stuck her head in. "Frank? Travis just buzzed. They need you back downstairs."

Frank felt the blood drain from his face. "Tell him I'll be right there."

The nurse regarded him curiously. "Downstairs?"

"My brother." He couldn't make himself to explain any further.

The woman's eyes widened. "The shooting victim." It wasn't a question. Frank nodded, his jaw still tight. "I see." The look she gave him was both sympathetic and understanding. "I'll keep an eye on her until you get back," she said. "_Then_ you get some rest."

He nodded, then pushed the door open, leaving Anna asleep behind him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The waiting room was populated by statues.

Marisol and Chet sat by the door holding hands, her copper-colored hair spilling off his shoulder. Tony stood, cell phone in hand, beside a blanket-draped figure in a wheelchair. Biff.

"He sweet-talked the phlebotomist into taking two pints." Chet's eyes had followed Frank's gaze. "Then he got up too soon and passed out." He indicated the wheelchair with his chin. "That was the only way they'd let him back in here." A grimace crossed his face. "Turns out it was a good thing, though. He needed it."

Frank didn't need to ask who Chet meant.

Kara stood alone by the window staring out at the skyline, her arms wrapped around her chest as if she were holding herself together.

"Travis came by a little while ago. Something about a guy wearing a wire. He wanted to know if she wanted in on the interview." Chet sighed. "She almost took his head off. On the other hand, it was the first sound she'd made since you left. I was getting worried." He paused. "How's Anna?"

Frank's eyes stayed glued on Kara. "She's asleep." He let out a breath. "She's safe. That's what matters."

"Frank?" Tony's incredulous voice came from his right. "Man, if I hadn't heard your voice, I wouldn't have known... Never mind." He stopped and pulled Frank into an embrace. "He's strong. He'll pull through." He stepped back suddenly, the cell phone buzzing in his hand. "Phil," he said, glancing down. "He's trying to catch a flight, but it's pouring out there." He opened the phone. "Phil? No. No word yet..." He turned and walked back toward Biff.

"Mr. Hardy?" Frank turned. A tall, dark haired woman with green eyes stood in the doorway, her hand extended. She looked to be about fifty years old, her shoulders drooping with exhaustion. "I'm Dr. Mueller. I performed the surgery on your brother." She glanced around, noting the number of people in the room. "Perhaps you'd like to go somewhere more private?"

Frank shook his head, the red fringe falling back over his eyes. "No. This is our family. Anything you need to tell me you can say in front of them." From the corner of his eye, he saw Kara step closer.

Dr. Mueller nodded. "We removed two bullets – one from your brother's left shoulder, the other from his chest cavity. The first was fairly straight-forward. The second was lodged in his left lung."

Kara gasped. Frank's eyes closed involuntarily, the image of Joe bleeding on the floor still burned in his brain. He stood for a moment, then slowly reopened his eyes, turning toward Kara. Chet had placed a comforting hand on her arm. Her face was pale and set, but she didn't shake the hand off. Frank looked back at the doctor and nodded for her to continue.

"We got both bullets out and repaired the damage." The doctor's expression grew more serious. "It was touch and go for a while. Between the collapsed lung and the blood loss..." She broke off and took a deep breath. "He's on a ventilator, and we're going to need to keep him sedated for a few days. It gives him time to heal and us time to be sure he can breathe on his own before we remove the vent tube." She looked Frank straight in the eyes. "He's still listed in critical condition. As with any surgery, there is a risk of infection. We're taking precautions to minimize that risk."

Frank felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. A quick glance to the side showed him Kara's expression mirrored his own. "Can we see him?"

"I don't see why not." The doctor smiled. "Even sedated, he may be able to hear voices. One or two at a time, and not for too long. You'll need to wear masks and gloves." She looked at the people in the room. "He's hooked up to a lot of machinery. If any alarms go off, you'll need to move out of the way as quickly as possible." Her glance fell on Biff. "You, young man, will need to wait until I can be sure you can stand on your own. I heard about what you did. It was reckless." The green eyes softened. "But it may have saved his life."

Biff gave her a wan smile. "I'd do it again." Tony elbowed his shoulder, a resigned expression on his face.

Frank pushed the hair out of his eyes. "Dr. Mueller." He paused, making sure he had control over his voice before speaking again. "Thank you." She bowed her head to him and walked out of the room. He turned to face Kara, who now stood expressionless beside him, staring at the door. "You should see him first," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "He wouldn't have made it this far if it wasn't for you."

Kara's eyes were troubled. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, pressing her lips together. Finally, she looked back up at him and shook her head, strands of hair falling out of her pony tail. "I can't," she whispered, her face crumpling. "Not right now. I can't see him like that."

He squeezed her shoulders. "It's okay. I understand." He watched as she turned back toward the window, resuming her vigil over the darkening parking lot. Frank let his hands fall to his sides and took a deep breath. "I'll be back," he said to no one in particular. Then he squared his shoulders and took what would seem like the longest walk of his life.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Before twenty minutes had passed, one of machines monitoring Joe started blaring an alarm, the light in the top corner flashing red. A nurse hurried in and, as she checked the lines and the equipment, said, "You need to leave now, sir. I'm sorry."

Frank let go of his brother's hand and backed out of the room, exhausted and numb as he pulled off the gloves and mask he had donned. He walked back to the waiting room, hardly aware of where his feet were taking him. _Please, let him be all right,_ he thought as he opened the door.

Tony crouched by Biff's wheelchair, his head whipping toward the sound of the door opening. He nodded to Frank, his eyes still on their friend. Chet was just putting away his cell phone and rose as Frank approached. A quick scan of the room showed both Kara and Marisol were missing.

"Marisol has to work tomorrow," Chet said, answering the question in Frank's eyes, "and Travis pretty much threw Kara over his shoulder and hoisted her out. He said something about his wife killing him if he didn't take care of her." He paused. "She must be wiped. She didn't even threaten him." His eyes took in Frank's haggard appearance. "Speaking of..."

"I'm staying." Frank forced steel into the words.

Chet raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I wasn't going to try to convince you otherwise, boss. I know an exercise in futility when I see one." His eyes softened. "Your folks called." Frank's head jerked up. "Their cell service is spotty, and they won't be in port for two or three more days. Once they are, they'll disembark and head straight to an airport. I told them to email me the details, and I'd see they got here as soon as it's possible." He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "Oh, and I called your Aunt Gertrude. I'd forgotten how impressive and... extensive... a vocabulary she has. She's taking care of a sick friend but wanted me to tell you she'll be praying for Joe." His cheeks reddened. "And that I should make sure you rest and eat well so you don't end up in intensive care as well." He raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of futile exercises..."

"Thank you." Frank's reply was a whisper. He hadn't been looking forward to telling his parents the news.

"Is he that bad?"

Frank nodded, his face a mask. As much as he appreciated his friends and what they were doing, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts and worries. It was too much work trying to keep it together for them.

Tony walked forward, worried eyes still on Biff's slumped form. "Hey, guys? I'm going to take the human blood bank home, and make him a steak dinner." He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and handed them to Frank. "I know you're not planning on leaving, but he wants you to take these so you can get home if you need to." A small smile played on his lips. "You know, get a change of clothes or something." He clapped Frank's shoulder. "I'll bring him back in the morning. Try to get some sleep." Seconds later, he was wheeling Biff out the door and down the hall.

Chet sat back down in one of the upholstered chairs and started making himself comfortable. Frank eyed him with tired surprise. "You don't need to stay."

"Like hell I don't," Chet replied. "Are you going?" Frank shook his head. "Then I'm staying, too."

"Chet." Frank looked at his friend, gratitude in his brown eyes. "I think you should head home. I need... " His voice started to shake, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to steady it. "I need some time alone."

Chet eyed him for a long minute, then sighed. "I'll be back in the morning. I'll bring some of your own clothes, a toothbrush, stuff you might need." His back straightened and his eyes flashed. "But, so help me Frank Hardy, if I get back here tomorrow morning and you're wallowing in some kind of misplaced guilt, I'll be glued to your side until he's awake. Do you hear me?"

Frank barked out a half-laugh, thinking for a moment how strange it felt to find humor in anything just now. "Yes, sir," he said. "Understood."

"At least with you I don't have to worry about the walls staying intact." Chet shook his head and let out a sigh. "Call me if you need anything."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Frank figured he must have fallen asleep. He remembered sitting down in the chair Chet had vacated and pulling up a second one to prop up his feet, his arms crossing his chest to stop himself from shivering in the room's oddly cool climate. There were vague memories of hearing the door open once or twice during the night, then nothing. Now, from behind his eyelids, he could tell the room was brighter – either morning had come or the lights were on a timer – and surprisingly warmer. _No, _he thought, sleep still clouding his brain, i_t's not the room that's warmer. It's_ _me. _As he reached up to rub his eyes, he discovered the reason; a blanket had been placed over him and tucked in over his legs and chest. In addition, a hand was settled protectively on his shoulder. He tried pushing himself into a sitting position, blinking several times to make his eyes focus.

"It's still early. You should sleep more."

This voice brought him to full alertness immediately. "Anna? What...? How...?"

"When I woke up, the nurse told me you'd been there. Then she told me about Joe." She took his hand, her dark eyes bright with unshed tears. "Frank, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

He squeezed her hand and shook his head. "How could you have known? I just wish _I'd_ listened when Joe..."

Anna grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently. "No," she said, looking in his eyes. "If you won't let it be _my_ fault, I won't let it be _your _fault either. It's _Brian's_ fault. No one else's."

Frank let out a long breath. "You could give Chet a run for his money," he said, his voice shaky.

She stroked the hair from his forehead, a crooked smile on her face. "I'd say it in reverse, except I'm mostly broke," she said. "I think I can afford some coffee and breakfast, though. You don't look like you've eaten much since yesterday." She stood and pulled him to his feet, holding on to his arm as he swayed slightly. "Make that the last few days. Come on." She led him to the waiting room door. "Food first, then we can visit Joe."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next several days blended in to one another. Frank sat with Joe every moment he was allowed, sometimes accompanied by one of the others, sometimes alone. Anna stayed with him each night, providing silent support when his mind wouldn't stop spinning and making light conversation when he needed distraction. When Chet returned the next morning with clothes for Frank, he handed Anna a canvas bag holding an oversized sweater and jeans, two pony-tail holders and a bandana, and her glasses. When Anna emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, the movie star had been packed up and replaced by the college student.

Kara also came back that morning, wearing clothes that were slightly too big for her and bringing the news that Montvale's wire had worked perfectly; Milton Jackson was now behind bars awaiting arraignment, and Brian Jackson had been taken to a secure psychiatric facility. "Turns out Brian is Milton's nephew," she said, her tone clipped and business-like. "It explains how he knew about, and got access to, that greenhouse." She then grabbed gloves and a mask and disappeared into Joe's room, Travis standing guard at the door. She emerged some time later, pale but composed, and took up sentry duty at the window again.

Phil arrived late in the afternoon from the west coast and set up a communications center in one corner of the waiting room, his laptop and phone in constant use, sending messages to the three elder Hardys and reporting their responses. Marisol showed up after the second day with supplies to remove the extensions from Frank's hair and wash out what remained of the black dye.

Chet stopped in each morning and returned every evening with dinner, messages from other friends and acquaintances, and updates on agency clients. Frank was grateful to have other things to think about, even if only for a few minutes. Tony stayed through Monday evening, then had to head back to Bayport and the restaurant – "There are two cheeseburger pizzas waiting for Joe in Biff's freezer," he said before going. "Make sure he eats them."

Biff stopped in several times a day, still pale but growing stronger, until announcing on the third day that he was being sent to London for a week. "I wanted to be here when he woke up. Call me when he does," he instructed, an anguished look on his face. "I don't give a damn about the time difference." Frank clasped his arm and gave his word.

On the fourth morning, Dr. Mueller took Joe off the ventilator. Frank sat, one leg bouncing convulsively – another of Joe's habits he had picked up over the past few days – and waited for the doctor's verdict. If Joe could breathe on his own, the sedatives would be reduced. Kara paced the floor, looking for all the world like a caged tiger waiting to pounce, her dark hair loose for a change, hiding her face. Anna occupied the chair next to Frank – one hand entwined with his, her head on his shoulder – and whispered words of encouragement.

When the door opened, the smile on the doctor's face told Frank what he needed to know. "He's strong, that brother of yours," she said. "He's breathing like a champion. You'd never know he had a hole in his lung." Her green eyes held a look of deep satisfaction. "I'd say he'll probably start stirring in the next several hours. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some other patients I need to check in with."

Relief flowed through Frank like a river, leaving him exhausted and light-headed. He disengaged his hand from Anna's. "I need to let my folks know." He had talked to his parents several times since Joe's surgery. The conversations had been short, both Frank and his parents trying their best to keep their emotions in check.

"On it." Phil's voice came from the floor, cell phone in hand. "Your mom's getting really good at texting." His phone chirped, and he glanced at the screen. "She says 'Good. Home tomorrow. Tell him to get some sleep.'" He raised his eyebrows at his friend. "The last part's all caps. Your mother knows you."

Frank let out a long breath. "Tell her not until I see Joe's eyes open."

"Sure. Leave me to do the dirty work," Phil muttered, his fingers flying over the miniature keypad.

"You and Kara should head in now." Frank turned to find Anna looking at him. Dark circles stood out under her eyes, evidence of her support over the past few days. "You should be there when he wakes up."

He stretched out a hand and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. "_You_ should get some rest."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "When you do." Then she kissed him.

He started, then reached out to pull her closer, holding her close to him when the kiss ended. "I'll hold you to that," he said, smiling gently and resting his hand on her cheek. Then he turned to Kara. "Come on," he said. "You can yell at him first."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The buzzing noise was back. _Need to get... ears checked_, Joe thought groggily. _Really irritating..._ Gradually it subsided, allowing other noises to take its place. There were a couple different beeping sounds, a dripping noise, and a motorized hum that seemed to be accompanied by a painful squeezing on his right bicep. "Ow," he murmured. "Stop... it."

The buzzing almost sounded like words – "Did he say something?" – but he couldn't be sure.

Slowly, he became aware of other things – the sun's warmth on his upper body, a faint pressure on his right hand, pain... a lot of pain, mostly located on his left side. The tightness came back on his arm. "Shit... Really?"

"I heard it that time." Frank's voice. From very far away.

"Joe? Can you hear me?" Kara's voice, much closer than Frank's. The slight pressure on his hand increased. Her hand holding his.

He tried to curl his fingers around hers and found a barrier against his skin. "Wha's wrong... your hand?" he whispered, not sure if she was really here this time or if this was one of the dreams that had been flickering through his mind.

"Nothing. It's a glove." Her voice sounded muffled, but she was so close he could smell the scent of her shampoo. "Joe, can you open your eyes?"

"Tired," he breathed. And it was true. He wanted nothing more than to drift back to the nothingness, where everything didn't hurt. As he started to fall back asleep, the humming noise returned along with the pain on his upper arm. _What _is _that?_ He forced his eyes open and turned his head to the side, blinking so he could focus. The motion alerted him to a rawness in his throat. He swallowed convulsively, trying to moisten it.

"Hey." He could hear relief in Kara's voice and automatically turned toward it. "You're awake." There were tears in her eyes.

"You... all right?" Concern for her well-being replaced the annoyance over his dry throat and whatever was attacking his arm.

"I'm fine now," she said, stroking his forehead. "Have I ever told you how beautiful your blue eyes are?"

He shook his head, puzzled by her words.

"I have to agree, little brother." Frank's voice also sounded muffled. The thought registered in Joe's mind that they were both wearing masks. _Huh... Weird. _Was he wearing one, too? Is that why his mouth was so dry?

"Frank?" Joe turned from Kara to peer at what he could see of his brother's face. The simple motion completely exhausted him. He could feel his eyes starting to close, but he there was something he had to say. "Geez, 'bro... You look... terrible... Take a nap... or something."

He heard Kara snicker and the start of Frank's surprised laughter as his eyes shut and he drifted back to sleep.


	15. Act 4, scene 4

Joe spent three or four more days in intensive care – he wasn't sure of the exact number as he had slept through most of them – followed by a week in a regular ward being fussed over by his parents and friends. Except for the pain, it was a mostly pleasant experience. Frank wasn't dead, Anna was safe, and Kara was not only speaking to him again, but – once she'd gotten the verbal slap-down out of her system – spent her time sitting on the side of his bed holding his hand, eyes shining as she looked at him. The only thing disturbing his relative peace was his brother. Frank was being difficult.

"He was in here almost constantly while you were out," Chet told him. "He barely spoke to anyone. I'm not sure he was eating."

Joe shook his head. _Guilt complex_, he thought. _No one can build them like Frank._

After he was moved to the regular ward, it seemed to Joe that Frank avoided visiting him. When questioned, Frank said he wanted their parents and Kara to have the lion's share of the visitation time. "I got to watch you sleep for days, little brother. It's time for someone else to have a turn." When he did stop by, Anna was generally with him, and Joe was surprised – but pleased – to see them holding hands.

The one thing that worried Joe was the look in his brother's eyes; they held a wary expression, as if he were expecting Joe to disappear or break into tiny pieces. While it appeared he had finally gotten some sleep – _Not much,_ Joe thought – it didn't look like he had started eating regularly. Joe let it go for a few days, hoping Frank's analytical mind would reason himself out of the guilt, would realize it was a waste of time and energy. Finally, Joe gave up on that optimistic dream, and told Frank he needed to knock it off.

"Geez, Frank, if there'd been another way, don't you think I would have _taken_ it? I would have much rather chucked Brian against that wall than you." He shrugged, wincing at the agony the motion caused in his left shoulder. "You just were closer, 'bro." He could feel the exhaustion starting to shut him down again but knew he needed to get out one last point. "Besides, you would have done the same for me," he managed to get out before his eyes started closing. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a hint of a smile on Frank's face before he fell back asleep.

When his eyes opened next, he saw Frank still sitting by his bed. They were alone for the first time Joe could remember. "Are you done being an idiot," he asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother, "or do I have to yell at you some more?"

"I think we're good," Frank replied, looking marginally more like himself. "And you're right."

Joe smiled. "I'm sorry, could you say that again?"

Frank sighed. "You're right."

"Boy, it's good to hear you say that once in a while."

"Don't let it go to your head, little brother." Frank let out a long breath. "I'm just glad you're okay.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Food_, Joe thought. _ I smell..._ _Pancakes. _He rolled onto his back and sniffed the air, the action waking him from the doze that felt almost permanent at this point_. Oh, G-d. They're torturing me. _He pulled the pillow out from under his head and pressed it down on his face to block the aroma. _Someone's getting real food, while I'm stuck with broth and rice. Maybe if I make nice to the nurses... _He sighed, realizing that probably wouldn't happen and tried to go back to sleep. Then his stomach grumbled. _Guess not._

He moved the pillow and stretched gently, hissing through his teeth as pain ripped through his left side. Once it subsided, he cracked his eyes open and trying to focus in the darkness and wondering why the room was so quiet. No beeping machines, no noises from the hall. Then the memory hit. He was home, actually in his own apartment. Dr. Mueller had released him from the hospital late yesterday afternoon.

Joe put a hand to his forehead, trying to piece together details of the ride home. He remembered Frank helping him get in the car. The walk from the wheelchair to the edge of the hospital's driveway was the longest he had taken in two weeks and had left him breathless. He slept most of the way home. There was a vague recollection of his mother commenting that his sheets needed to be changed once they'd gotten him in his apartment, and his father chuckling. Someone – he wasn't sure who at this point – had helped him into bed... Then nothing. The cooking smells told him someone was in the apartment, though. Not his mother. She'd be singing or humming as she cooked.

"Frank?"

Kara's voice came from the other side of the door. "Hey, sleepyhead, you're awake. I'll be right in with breakfast." There were noises of silverware clanging on a plate and some type of liquid being poured into a glass. Then footsteps.

The door pushed open, and Joe's jaw dropped. Kara stood in the doorway clad only in one of his t-shirts, on her looking like a short dress. In her hands was a tray of food, the pancakes he had smelled. As hungry as he was, seeing Kara like this made Joe unsure of what he wanted more. His growling stomach conflicted with the sudden rush of desire he felt coursing through his body.

Kara's hair was loose, brushing just past her shoulders and framing her face. Joe's gaze traveled down her body to her bare legs, and he felt his heart beat faster. His right hand grazed the pillow on other side of the bed, his fingers finding the indentation where her head had been during the night. She had obviously been lying next to him all night, her arms wrapped around his chest, those gorgeous legs tangled up in his. He swallowed hard, suddenly finding it hard to think.

"Eyes up here, Hardy." The tray jiggled, and Joe wrenched his gaze back up to Kara's face. Her eyes held a mischievous glint. "You need more recovery time before you get to think about that."

Joe groaned. Intellectually, he knew she was right. _But still..._

Kara seated herself on the bed, making sure to keep the tray between them. "Breakfast time for the invalid," she said, spearing a piece of pancake. "Open wide." He complied, and she propelled the fork towards his mouth. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted, and he opened his mouth again for more. Kara's lips quirked into a smile. "You look like an oversized sparrow," she said, but she continued feeding him.

Halfway through the plate, a wave of exhaustion forced Joe back on his pillow.

"Are you all right?" Concern and worry flashed across Kara's face.

He nodded. "Just need a minute."

"Take as long as you want. I have to get something." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'll be right back."

Joe figured he must have dozed off. When he looked up again, there was more light in the room. Kara, dressed now in jeans and a sweatshirt, sat cross-legged in the center of the bed, holding Joe's hand. He blinked. "How long was I asleep?"

"About an hour." She was smiling at him. "You sleep as much as you need to. Just keep opening those baby blues for me every now and then, okay?"

He nodded, grimacing as pain flashed across his chest.

"Do you need a painkiller?" She started to stand, but he kept hold of her hand.

"Not yet. I'd like to stay awake longer than five minutes this time. I've missed this." He sighed. "Be a lot more pleasant if I hadn't been shot." He let go of her hand and propped himself back up so he could see her better.

Kara's eyes closed. She took a deep breath, then opened them again. "Joe," her voice was barely a whisper, "what do you remember about it?"

He cocked his head to the side, showing her a lopsided smile. "It hurt."

She pressed her lips together and turned her head to the side, not looking at him. "I'm serious."

"So am I." He raised his right hand and cupped her chin, noting her eyes stayed turned away. "I remember you ordering me to stay with you. I remember worrying you had been hurt." He turned her face towards his. He could feel her breath on his hand. She was trembling. "I remember telling you I love you." She didn't respond, staying still as stone, and his heart sank. He had been so sure she had felt the same way. Of course, that was before his various acts of stupidity.

He cleared his throat. "Kara, it's okay if you don't feel the same way about me. I just want to be with you." He let out a breath. "I may be thoughtless sometimes, and scattered, and... Anyway, you need to know I will never hurt you intentionally. I just need to work harder on my organizational skills so I don't hurt you again _un_intentionally." There was still no reaction. Concerned, he tilted his head to the side, trying to get her to look him in the eyes. "Kara?"

A tear coursed down her cheek, splashing on Joe's fingers. "I've never been so scared in my life," she whispered. "I was terrified I was going to lose you, too." Joe held his breath, not knowing what to say. "It feels like I lose everyone I love."

"Everyone you..." His voice faltered.

"When Dr. Mueller said we could see you, I couldn't make myself go in. I was afraid..." Another tear followed the first.

Understanding lit up Joe's face. "You love me."

"Yes." She finally turned to look at him, tears drying on her cheeks. "I love you."

He kissed her, gently at first, then with more passion, pulling her onto his chest and holding her there until he couldn't breathe, his lungs burning, his heartbeat a jackhammer in his chest. He gently lowered her back to the other side of the bed. "I see why... not allowed... to do this... until I'm healed," he said, struggling to get the words out.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded as he gulped air, pulling her toward him, holding her close against his side. "Don't worry," he said, when his breathing eased. "I'm not that easy to get rid of. Ask Frank, he'll tell you in detail." She laughed and loosened his hold as she shifted to sit up again.

"Oh," she said, stretching an arm to the bottom of the bed. "I got you something. A welcome home present." She handed him a package, then wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"What is it?"

"Open it." She grinned when he rolled his eyes at her.

Gingerly, Joe moved his left arm toward the box, then ripped the paper and threw it onto the floor. "It's a cell phone." He gave her a quizzical look. "I _have_ a cell phone."

"Not like this," she said. "This one's special." She sighed at his blank stare. "This one's a smart phone."

Joe shook his head. "And?"

Kara rolled her eyes back at him. "_And_, it has a calendar. _And_, I've linked to my account so I can access the calendar." He stared at her. "_And_, it's programmed to send you reminders of important events that are on that calendar." His eyes widened. "I figure since I plan on keeping you around a long time, I'd better get used to reminding you where you need to be when. As long as you remember to keep it charged, this," she indicated the box with a wave of her head, "should keep you out of trouble, or at least some trouble."

"I guess it all depends on what kind of trouble you're talking about," he said, reaching for her again.

She jumped off the bed in one fluid motion. "Not that kind. Not now."

"In that case, I don't suppose you have any of those pancakes left, do you?" She nodded. "Good. Maybe you could get some, and I can tell you all about the trouble I have planned for the leftover maple syrup. Once I'm healed, I mean."

Kara lifted her chin. "Sounds like something we'll have to put in the calendar." She left to get the pancakes.

Joe smiled.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Opening night was standing room only. Frank almost couldn't believe his eyes when he entered the theater and saw the number of people in attendance. _Pretty good for a show that almost didn't make it_, he thought. The production had come to a screeching halt the day of the party, the cast and crew who had been at the house quickly spreading the news of Brian's actions and Milton being dragged away in handcuffs. Rehearsals had come to a standstill while the remaining producers discussed the show's viability. Once the news hit the public, the response had been immediate. Adoration was suddenly the must-see show of the season, and tickets were selling like crazy, the box office having trouble keeping up with the phone and Internet orders. _I guess all publicity _is _good publicity_, Frank mused.

As Mary Magdalene, Anna owned the stage, mesmerizing the audience with her performance. The entire theater quieted whenever she walked on stage, and at the end of the play, she was given a standing ovation. As the cheering continued, Frank left his seat and walked briskly towards the stage crew's entrance, a large bouquet of daisies in his hand. Three feet into the backstage area, a hand grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back.

"No audience members backstage." A woman's voice came from behind him.

Recognizing the voice as Cheli's, Frank turned to face her, holding his hands out in front of him. "Delivery for Ms. Gold," he said, forcing his voice back into John's register.

The props mistresses' eyes narrowed as she examined him. "So this is what you really look like?" she said after a minute's scrutiny, the barest hint of a smile on her face. Frank nodded. "I liked the other look better. Made you look cutting edge." She paused, and shook her head mournfully. "I doubt Dwayne would be interested in you now. Too normal. Too bad."

"I'm pretty sure he's not my type," Frank said in his own voice, watching Cheli's startled expression with satisfaction.

"Oh, you're good," she said, smiling. She looked at the flowers in Frank's hands. "I'd tell you where her dressing room is, but you already know. She should be done changing now." She smiled at him, then put a hand back out. "So, is John your real name?"

"Frank Hardy."

"Like that other boy?" Cheli's eyes widened.

Frank smiled. "He's my brother. We're private detectives."

Cheli made a clucking sound with her tongue. "And I thought actors were strange." She shook her head, pausing for a moment. "Frank? Take good care of that girl. She's special."

He nodded. "I know."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You're sure you want to do this?" It was a Monday morning about month after the play had opened. He and Anna stood in the back yard of his parents' house, Frank carrying a oversized shoe-box, Anna clasping a box of matches in her hands.

"Yes." Her voice was small but firm. "The police said with the notes and the photos they took at the greenhouse there was more than enough evidence." She took a deep breath. "I _need_ to do this."

Frank nodded and set the box down on a stone fire pit. He removed the cover, exposing the photos and fabric from Brian's lair in the greenhouse, then stepped back.

Anna stood for a moment, staring at the contents of the box, her dark eyes unfathomable. Then with a swift motion, she lit a match and flung it into the box, following it by three more.

The photos caught fire first, their edges curling and blackening as the flames grew. Slowly the fire ate away at the costume, then licked the sides of the box, until a small fire burned in the pit, consuming the contents. They stood and watched until nothing was left but a pile of ashes, Frank standing a few steps behind Anna, giving her a small measure of privacy as she kept her silent vigil. When the fire was out, Frank poured a bucket of water on the pit to quell any lingering sparks.

"Are you all right?" He put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I just need to be alone for a while." Her face was impassive.

Frank nodded. "I'll be in the house if you need me."

She didn't turn as he walked away.

He stood by the window watching her for over an hour before she came in the house, shivering slightly. He enfolded her in his arms and held her. "What can I do?" he asked. Anna shook her head. "Anna, please. How can I help you?"

"This is good." He led her over to the sofa, and held her, providing what comfort he could until she relaxed in his embrace. "Thank you."

They sat in silence for a while, Anna resting her head on Frank's shoulder. "What will you do now?" he asked.

Anna shifted so she could see Frank's face. "I've been offered a movie role. It's a small, independent film." She paused. "In France."

"Really? Are you going to take it?" Frank worked at keeping his expression impassive.

"I need the money." She sighed. "Pierre's working on paying back what he took from me, but for now I need to take anything I'm offered."

Frank nodded. "How long will you be gone?"

She shrugged. "Six months? I'm not sure." She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me." He brushed the side of face with his fingers. "More than you can know." He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Not fair," Anna jokingly complained. "You're using my lines against me."

Frank raised his eyebrows. "And it was fair for you to use them to get me to kiss you?"

Anna had the grace to blush. "I don't have a lot of experience with relationships. I couldn't think of another way to let you know I was interested in you."

"So you let me think I assaulted you instead."

Her blush deepened. "Well, if you hadn't apologized, I wouldn't have thought..."

Frank pulled her close for another kiss. When they separated, he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "So, what happens when you come back?"

"I see what other jobs come up."

"Back in California?"

Anna looked up at him through her eyelashes. "In New York if I can. I was renting in L.A., and here I don't have to." Frank looked at her in surprise. "Pierre turned over the deed to the apartment to me. Now it really is my home." She smiled. "I haven't had a real home in a long time. It'll be nice." She paused for a moment, her cheeks coloring again. "I can only think of one thing that would make it better."

"And that is?"

"If I know you'll be here when I come back."

Frank smiled. "I think that could be arranged. I might even be able to swing a weekend or two in Paris."

Anna's eyes shone, and she leaned up for another kiss. Frank was happy to comply.

The sound of something heavy hitting the floor made them both jump.

"Franklin John Hardy! I expect this kind of behavior from your brother, not from you." Gertrude Hardy stood in the doorway, a shocked expression on her face, a suitcase on its side at her feet.

"Aunt Gertrude, we weren't expecting you until tomorrow." Frank crossed the room and picked up the luggage.

"I can see that," she replied. "And this is?"

Frank put his arm out, and Anna came to stand in its circle. "Aunt Gertrude, this is my girlfriend, Anna Goldstein. Anna, my aunt."

The older woman stood sizing up the younger one for a long minute, then turned to Frank. "It's about time," she said to him. "Now when you're done kissing her, bring my case up to my room." Then she turned and marched up the stairs.

Anna stared after her in awe. "Is she always like that?"

Frank nodded. "Pretty much, and it upsets her when we don't do what she says." He put his arms around Anna. "So, I guess I better kiss you again. After all, I can't finish what I haven't started." He put his arms around her and drew her close, smiling all the while.


End file.
